Time Heals Everything
by Ell'ah
Summary: It isn't Harlow's beauty, brilliance or benign nature that has Ryan Buell head over heels in love with her - it's his horrified obsession with her past, her nightmares and her seemingly hopeless future thats got him hooked for good. PARANORMAL STATE
1. Preface

**Preface**

So this was it. This was death.

There was no peaceful blackening of the world, no comforting warmth enveloping me, no complete ease washing over my mind. Nothing like that at all.

There was just pain.

I was vaguely aware of where I was, why I was there, what I had been doing before all of this; in all honesty, I wasn't even all that entirely sure of **who** I was. All I knew, and had I been able to string two complete thoughts together I think it would've killed me right there, was that I was in the grips of something so terrible, something so horrible and unimaginable, that the pain I felt could not be described in any simple word. It was pain that no living person could ever imagine, would ever want to imagine. In death, they say you see a white light. In that white light lies the other side. When you see it, you're to walk towards it. It will allow you to move on, to be free, to be at peace.

The white light they speak of? It was nowhere to be found, there was no comforting glow illuminating a tunnel ahead of me. There was light, yes. But it was not white, it was red. Scarlet, blood red. It rushed at me from all sides, surrounded me with its gleam: it was a burning light, a flare that seared at my face, burnt my bones to charred stumps and ashes, ripped my skin to shreds, scorched and scalded and singed my body until all I felt was empty and broken.

I was surrounded by people, I knew that. Not because I saw them or felt them, but I could recall their presence before this pain, this horror had begun. They had been there with their pathetic "Good Luck's" and "You'll Be Alright"'s. They knew not what was about to happen, had no idea that this wouldn't be a fight against a furious soul. It wouldn't be a battle between good and evil. This was a matter of life and death; it was a war between my body and a stranger's demon, a struggle between the living and those who we call the dead.

Had they known it would get this far, I would like to think they would have stopped me. Prevented me from enduring this all-consuming pit of torment. Told me no when I offered to save the poor girl from mortal peril. But they knew nothing of what was to come, knew not that my life was about to come to a very abrupt, painful end.

I was ready for it. It's funny, in a sick sort of way.

They say when you know you're about to die, your body, mind and soul accept it, embrace it, and just go with it. This is exactly what happened. After the pain, beyond the torture, way in the back of my mind, I had a very clear understanding of what was about to happen. I knew these were my last moments. That "Bum-bump, Bum-bump", that was my heart moaning its final lament. I heard it, I knew it, I accepted it, and I waited for it.

Had I kept my eyes firmly shut like I should have, my heart would have ended its cry. My blood would stop its endless race to nowhere. My chest would rise, and fall one last time. I would have been free of the pain, free of the anguish, free of the torment I had endured for the last 25 years of my life. But silly old me. I was stupid enough to open them one last time.

In that one fleeting moment, they flickered open, and I saw staring down into my own, a pair of overbight, terror-stricken chestnut brown ones. A very familiar, a very beautiful set, which belonged to a very familiar, very beautiful person. A person I was quite ready to fight this agony for. A person I knew was worth every second of this burn. A person, quite frankly, I **wasn't** ready to leave.

And in this moment, I knew that this fight wasn't over. On the contrary;

It had just begun.

* * *

Hello all!

Not new to FanFiction, but new to the Paranormal State board. Love the show, decided I might as well write a story ;) I love reviews more than Chip loves hand gestures, but flamers break my little ol' heart. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, though. Thanks guys!

Love; Ellah!

* * *


	2. Delusionally Raunchy Daydreams

**Chapter One  
**_Delusionally Raunchy Daydreams_

**(Ryan)**

" - and once Ryan cleans up that ridiculously attractive line of drool that's slowly dribbling down the right side of his face, we can begin our discussion on our findings for the 'Williamsburg Haunting' case."

"Hmmneh - oh, shit - sorry guys, I was just - "

"Daydreaming," the PRS team sighed in unison.

"Funny how often you daydream," said Katrina, tapping her chin in mock confusion. "And it's usually when we're outside, how _strange_ ..."

"Not outside, actually," said Elfie brightly, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. "It's funny, it seems like it only happens when _she's _in his direct line of vision. Hmmm."

"And it's not that he's daydreaming, really. He's more 'foaming-at-the-mouth-eyes-glazed-over-can't-seem-to-shut-his-trap-or-pay-attention'," Sergey added helpfully.

"Shut up, you guys," I mumbled, looking intently down into my lap. I could feel my cheeks burning, and the sensation as of late was getting all too familiar. "I uh, I don't even know what you're talking about."

In actuality, I did - I knew very well, perfectly well in fact, what they were talking about. They - oh, wait - let me rewind a bit. You're probably wondering who the hell I'm talking about, aren't you?

Well let me explain.

The guy who's mouth is leaking saliva all over his lap and whose mind is lost in a delusionally raunchy daydream is me - Ryan Buell. I'm a twenty five year old Paranormal Investigator with a knack for journalism, a keen interest in the supernatural, and a ridiculously intense four year obsessi - er, _crush_on a Psych major that is so far out of my league, I'd have better luck hookin' up with Jennifer Toews, the 36 year old lesbian with a hare lip.

The people making fun of me? My wonderful, irreplaceable, more-than-occasionally irritating friends and fellow investigators: Sergey Poberezhny, Heather Taddy, Eilfie Music, Katrina Weidman and Josh Light. Five of the strangest, funniest and most excellent chums a guy could ever have. They, like most other people on campus seemed to catch on to my not-so-secret-and-definitely-not-so-subtle crush on the psychology major in question, Harlow Vincent.

Harlow, a brilliantly observant, beautifully graceful, benignly jovial 24 year old student here at Penn State University, had arrived on campus two years after I first began my studies. And it was the moment I lay eyes on her that the infatuation begin - two days, thirteen hours and forty six minutes after her bus stopped at the front gates, to be exact.

And now, four years later, that ridiculously mad, undeniable urge to jump those dainty bones of hers was still upon me as ferociously as it had been the first day I saw her.

"_'Oh, I just want some fresh air, it's just soooo nice out, why don't we look over the case outside?' _Fresh air my ass, Buell," said Josh, with a wicked glance over his shoulder.

A couple of yards away, cross legged and inattentive on a white and red checkered blanket, sat my - er, _the -_ beautiful Harlow. She was tapping away merrily on her laptop, chewing her bottom lip in avid concentration. I smiled involuntarily - I loved it when she did that. So innocently sexy, so subtly racy ... that girl could get any guys heart a-poundin', in fact -

"God _look_, look at his eyes! They've gone googley!" Heather exclaimed, roaring with laughter.

"Have not," I muttered, attempting to ignore the group's raucous laughter. "Shut up, guys."

"Come on now, come on," said Katrina, snickering. "Leave Bossman alone, he's embarrassed. He's turning all pink and blotchy, and - "

"Oh, bugger off."

The group erupted into fits of laughter again and like usual, at my expense. I didn't mind, really. It was all in good fun - just a bit embarrassing on my part.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Sergey grinned at me jokingly. "Sorry, Ry, we're good now. Honestly."

"There will be no more jokes about your drooling, your blushing, your googley-eyed-ness, none of that," said Heather, eyes twinkling. "None of that."

"But if you don't mind," said Katrina kindly, but with a trace of irritability in her voice. "We **do** have work to do. People in need, souls we gotta fight for – all that jazz."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I sighed, with an apologetic grin. "You know me .. I'm just really easily distracted, that's all."

"Mmhm, we know," agreed Eilfie. "Distracted at _least_ once an hour."

"Once an hour," repeated Josh. "Of every hour."

"Of every minute - "

"Of every second - "

"Of EVERY. God. Damn. DAY."

"Wow. You almost had me believing, guys. Believing that you had the kindness in your heart, and the decency in your souls to leave me alone," I said loudly, over their peals of laughter. "Clearly, I was wrong. So very, very wrong."

So what do you think? The greatest friends a guy could ever ask for? Or the most irritating people you could ever have the displeasure of meeting? You take your pick.

Cause at the moment, I'm leaning towards the latter.

**(Harlow)**

"You know, the more you ignore us, the worse you're gonna feel."

"I don't know about that," I muttered under my breath. "I've been ignoring you guys for 8 years now, and I'm doing pretty well."

I peered around the campus anxiously, but no one seemed to be looking at me; in fact, besides me, there was only two other groups of people scattered around the enormous lawn that encircled that main building. And none of them - definitely none - were looking my way. I raked a hand nervously through my hair and peeked up at the elderly man sitting cross-legged in front of me. He had a lined face, twinkling dark eyes that looked like little shiny black beatles and a puff of white hair on his head that reminded me of a dandelion.

"Perfectly well, actually," I said softly. "I'm just fabulous, just ducky."

"Are you?" the man asked me, with a wry grin. "You seem a little .... on the edge."

I crinkled my nose in annoyance.

"I'm on the edge because I have a term paper due in one week, and I'm not even a paragraph into it and I'm completely stumped," I whispered.

"Maybe I can help? I was a Psych major back in my day, you know," he said, all sarcasm void from his tone.

I smiled sadly. "No offence, sir, but back in your day, Sigmund Freud was a toddler."

"Ahh, how old do you think I am?" he said, chuckling. "Freud was at LEAST a teenager. At least."

I giggled against my own will, and waved a hand dismissively. "Well, my point exactly."

"Nice to hear a bit of laughter out of ya," he said warmly.

"It's nice **to** laugh," I said honestly.

"Well it's hard, this University life," he said, with a nod. "Don't let it make you too crazy. You'll go bonkers, or worse. You could even wind up like me."

"Old, wrinkly and deceased?" I quipped.

"I meant more along the lines of charming, funny and handsome, but you make a valid point there hun," he laughed.

I smiled, and shook my head. "And so modest."

"Who you talkin' to now, Lo?"

I peered over my shoulder and sighed. "Just myself. You know how lonely I get when you're not constantly by my side."

Sophie, my best friend in the entire world, gave a contemptuous snort. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Well I'm not quite known for my acting skills," I said with a grin.

Sophie laughed and smacked the back of my head lightly. "You know, if you weren't my best friend, I'd probably hate your guts."

"You can't hate my guts," I said cheerfully. "I'm just too damn cute!"

She smirked, and reached her hand down towards me. "C'mon Harlow. There's a huuuuge sale at Banana Republic on, right this _very_ freakin' second. And I need me some new pants."

I shook my head. "I can't, Soph ... this paper is due in a week and I've barely even made a dent in it."

She flipped her long blonde hair haughtily behind her back, and raised an eyebrow. "Harlow, be serious - you're top of your Psych class. You could bullshit your entire final thesis on Freud's discovery of who-even-friggin'-knows, and you'd still ace it. Come on, it won't even be two hours of your time."

"I don't know," I said uneasily. "I really need to start this ...."

"I'll buy you a new dress from Aeropostale," she said, a wicked grin lighting up her face.

I blinked, sighed loudly and snapped my laptop shut in front of me. "If I fail, it's on **your**ass, Soph."

"I accept ALL responsibility," she said cheerfully, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. "Now let's go, or that clearance rack is gonna be empty by the time we get there!"

I bent down and shoved my laptop, notebooks and library books inside my already crammed book bag and flung it over my shoulder. I cast a dark look at the man who had been sitting next to me, and shrugged.

"Clothing calls," I murmured.

"You need to get your priorities in order, honey buns," he said sternly, but with a cheeky grin plastered on his lined face.

"Easy for you to say," I whispered. "What the hell kind of priorities does a dead man have?"

"I hope it's years before you gotta find that one out," he said softly.

"Did you say something?" Sophie asked impatiently.

"Just doing some quick math in my head," I said, turning my back to the man. "Making sure I've got enough for a new pair of heels."

"Thatta girl," said Soph, and we began to trudge across the now empty lawn. "That's the super shopper I know and love."

I slung the bookbag over my shoulder, walking quickly to keep up with Soph's long strides. "We should probably stop and grab some new shorts too, bud. Our first game is in two days."

"Ah, shit," said Soph, making a face. "I forgot about that."

"Well don't forget," I said sternly. "PCC is a small school but they've got some decent players."

Now that I think about it, you're probably all wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Frankly, you're probably wondering who the hell I even am.

Well! Let me explain everything! Er .. well, almost everything.

My name is Harlow Vincent. I'm 23 years old, in my fourth year here at Penn State University and I see dead people. No, actually. I wish I was freakin' kidding. But more about that later, perhaps.

I'm currently a Psychology major, with (not to brag, or anything, but ... yeah, okay, to brag!) the highest average in my entire Psych class. I'm a whizz at behaviorism, what can I say? My talents include - but (hopefully) are not limited to - volleyball (I'm currently the captain of the PSU Women's Volleyball Team, huzzah!), baking, collecting beanie babies, making a sick teriyaki stir fry and burping the alphabet up to 'M'. Somebody call NBC, I'm a freakin' SUPASTAR.

Oh. I'm also pretty good at that whole 'sarcasm' thing.

The girl that has dragged me (albeit it didn't take much force) away from my studies is my best girly buddy in the entire world, Sophie Kapor. She's my AssCap. And I mean that in a completely non-sexual way - the two of us met when we first joined the volleyball team, and after I was made captain, she was assigned my assistant captain. My AssCap. After taking a ball to the face (thankfully, Sophie's spikes are a bit better and more accurate then they were four years ago) and staunching the blood that was gushing out of my nose at an alarming pace for a good twenty minutes , we got to talkin' in the nurses office. Ever since that fateful, bloody day, Harlow Vincent and Sophie Kapor have been inseparable.

We trudged along across the field talking about our upcoming game.

"I think you're gonna regret putting Jessica up front, Lo," Soph said wearily. "She's just not ready yet."

"I've got faith in her," I said testily. "You and the rest of the team might not, but if I had doubts I would've cut her at tryouts."

"I'm not saying she's no good," said Sophie evenly. "I'm just saying maybe you should try her in the back first, I don't know if her volleys are really ... great."

"I'm not looking for great, I'm looking for - " _OOMPH._

"If I have told you once, I've told you a million freakin' times," sighed Sophie in exasperation. "It's left foot, right foot, left foot, right - "

"Oh shut up, bitch," I said from the ground, spitting dirt out of my mouth. "For once, it wasn't my fault."

I pushed myself up into a kneeling position, and grabbed a torn, blue notebook off the ground. "It was this son of a bitch."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Well you don't step on it, Lo, you walk around it."

"Ah ha ha ha," I said sarcastically, standing up. "Who the hell leaves a notebook lying around in the middle of a field?"

"Dunno," said Sophie, eyeing the ground. "But they left their pager too."

I followed Sophie's gaze down to the ground, and saw a shiny, silver-colored square lying on the ground. I stooped to pick it up.

"Nice," said Sophie impressively. "That's one of those new ones from Motorolla."

I turned it around, but saw no name. "This must've been like two hundred bucks, at _least_. Who would leave it here?"

"Probably forgot it," said Sophie. "Check the notebook for a name - but hurry! Banana Republic calls."

I grinned and flipped open the notebook. "_Betty and Stephen Glasgow have lived in the house for twenty-fours years as of 2009. House belonged to Betty's mother and grandmother before her, did not report noises or objects moving before. First occurrence happened in June of 2005."_

"Sounds like some weird ghost jumbo," said Sophie dismissively. "Just leave it here."

"Ryan Buell," I said, looking at the name etched into the top corner of the index page. "The notebook belongs to that guy, Ryan Buell."

"The paranormal queer-do?" Soph snorted. "Figures."

I shot her a dirty look. "Shut up, Soph, I'm sure he's a nice guy."

"Anyone involved in that ghosty, spirit crap has gotta have at least one screw loose," Soph said acidly. "Just leave his crap here, he'll be back for it later."

I shook my head. "I'm gonna take it to him."

Her jaw dropped, and her brow furrowed. "Harlow! Mall! Sale! Banana Republic! Need I repeat myself?!"

"We can go as soon as I bring him his stuff back," I said evenly. "It won't take long."

"Why doesn't he just get that creepy witchy elf girl to fetch it for him," Sophie said indignantly. "Or one of his ghostie friends."

"You're being a bitch," I said bluntly. "So either go to the mall by yourself or wait a fuckin' second while I take this back to Ryan. And stop saying ghosty."

"What you scared," she said with a sneer. "Ghostie, ghostie, ghostie."

"Not scared," I said, feeling my temper flare. "But it's rude to call them that. You should just say spirit."

"Oh Jesus, Lo, you believe in that shit?" said Sophie, mercilessly. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.

What I really wanted to do - besides punch her - was shake her. Take her by the shoulders and shake her like a ragdoll. Believe in it? I didn't believe in it. I lived it. I saw it. Every second of every day, since the beginning of time, I had lived in it. I saw her little ghosties, I saw them walk next to me everyday in the hallways. I saw people sitting on picnic benches, right next to apparitions of soldiers. I saw little girls skipping through the fields on campus, singing their songs, the echos of music that no one would ever hear again. I saw it. I felt it. I lived it.

But what could I say? Tell her yes, Sophie, I do in fact believe in ghosts. In fact, there is one right next to you, this very second. A girl no older than you, no prettier than you, no more special than you. In fact, you just walked through a middle-aged man about two minutes ago. In fact, you are surrounded by thousands of spirits right this very second, trapped on this Earth, stuck between what they knew, and what none of us will ever know.

Instead, I just shook my head and shot her one last dirty look.

"That's irrelevant," I said loftily. "I'm going to go to the PRS classroom. You can either come with, or go and buy your jeans all by your lonesome."

I turned on my heel and stomped off towards the PRS headquarters, Ryan Buell's notebook and pager firmly under my arm.

"Slow your fuckin' rolls, I'm coming you insane bitch."

I smiled against my own will, and winked at the young boy in fifties clothing sitting on the picnic bench in front of me.

He whistled and grinned a quirky little lopsided smile. "You tell her, hot stuff."

* * *

**HELLO.  
**  
You may not remember me. I have been gone for months and freakin' months! Long story short, school had killed all that was left of me, and after hibernating in my bed for two months, I am back and (maybe?) better than ever. I apologize profusely for the wait. You still love me ... right? Thank you to 80sStar, kCollins and Skaron for your wonderful reviews! Sorry to keep you lovelies waiting :) Hope you liked this chapter! God only knows when I will write the next one. Yikes.

**Love;** Ellah!


	3. I Sexually Lust After You, No Big Deal

**Chapter Two**

I Must Confess, I Sexually Lust After You. No Big Deal.

**(Ryan)**

"Well I think he's a liar."

"We don't _know_ that though, Kat, we gotta investigate further."

"Why bother investigating, he's a liar."

"We do not know he's a liar until we investigate."

"I'm saving us the money AND the trouble - he is a liar liar pants on fire."

I rubbed my temples irritably. For the fourth time in less than half an hour, Katrina and Sergey were clashing. I shot a glance over at Heather, who grinned back and shrugged. _Not even getting involved, _she mouthed. That was Heather, though - she'd rather have bamboo splinters shoved under her nails than be involved in an altercation. I exhaled heavily and cleared my throat.

"Hate to interurpt this extremely beneficial conversation you two have going," I said, lightly as I could manage. "But we do have a ridiculous amount of work to do on this case, regardless of if the guy's a phony or not. Can we stop this? Please?"

There was an uneasy silence, before Katrina shot a resentful look over at Serge. "Fine."

"You got it," said Sergey listlessly, drooping in his chair.

Serge and Katrina, close as the two of them were, bickered endlessly on days like today. The weather was perfect; cloudless, sunny skies with warm and breezy winds. April bloomed away from the grey, sluggish month of March. The last thing anyone wanted on a picture perfect day like today was to be stuck inside of a classroom. Despite our outdoorsy start to the day, the entire PRS team (much to my dismay) felt it would be better for the groups concentration to move back inside to our homey little classroom in the Woodsworth building.

The Woodsworth, an ancient five storey structure that towered over the surrounding buildings, was where PRS called home. I searched for months back in 2001, trying to find a place for our society to take up residence, and after numerous disagreements and conflicts with the University Board of Directors, they caved. On November 11th 2001, classroom number 204 on the fourth storey of the Woodsworth was ours.

When we first moved in, the walls were dreary and the room was depressing. Even **with** the four 6x6 windows located on the far North and East of the space, the room was dark and oppressive. But now, nearly seven years later - seven! - the room was a thing of beauty. Wall to wall bookshelves filled with hundreds, perhaps even thousands by now, of books. Posters, diagrams, pictures and illustrations littered the walls, charts and fact sheets plastered against the once gray but now periwinkle blue surface. Chairs of different shapes and sizes facing a million different directions, mismatched tables from chem labs to living rooms to coffee houses scattered about the antique oak floors. This room, _my _room, I loved so much.

Regardless of if you were in PRS or not, you couldn't help but be drawn into this comfortable space. I've seen people take double, triple, even quadruple takes when they walk past. It gave myself and the rest of the society great pride to be associated with a room like this.

But within this last hour, even the cheery walls and familiar atmosphere were proving to have no effect on my friends moods. Sergey, normally laid back, was criticizing everything and everyone while Katrina, usually complacent and friendly, was critical and moody. Josh and Eilfie, more reserved and introverted than usual and the always bubbly Taddy quiet and dreamy.

I pushed myself up onto my sturdy elm desk. "We should take a break or somethin', guys. This isn't working, we're all ... er, all ..."

"Pissy grouches," Heather added helpfully.

I smiled. "As always, given with such tact."

"I do try," she said bashfully.

It got a good chuckle from the group, and the mood lightened considerably. Feeling like there was, after all, a glimmer of hope here, I made a movie to grab our current case file off pile beside me.

From in front of me, I heard Katrina's sharp intake of breath and a faint "_oh man_" escape Josh's mouth. Maybe it was the investigator in me, thinking there was something spooky or they saw something paranormal, or perhaps it was just plain ol' basic instinct. The second I heard those noises, I whipped my head around in avid anticipation.

But what I saw was no spirit. There was no disembodied voice, I saw no shadow man flash across the opposite wall, nor did anything particularly paranormal happen. What I saw instead, was altogether more terrifying - and more beautiful, wonderful and spectacular - than anything supernatural I'd ever encountered in the short years I've been on this planet.

It was with great surprise, great terror and even greater adoration, that I felt my heart crumple, my lungs lose all air and my knees buckle as she walked through the door of my classroom.

And in a voice so pure, so honey smooth and so eloquently splendid, Harlow Vincent spoke the words I had been waiting four years to hear.

"You must be Ryan Buell."

**(Josh)**

Finally, I understood his infatuation.

In a spacious room, not remarkably large nor small, the area seemed to become strangely airless. A woman of such overwhelming, _breathtaking_ beauty, with momentous poise and who possessed unnatural fluidity in her movements had just made her way into our modest classroom.

This girl was someone I had seem so many times but had never ever spoken to. Yet, she was a girl I had heard so much about and watched endlessly for six, going on seven months now. Harlow Vincent, the 24 year old volleyball player that had our nerdy but kind little boss wrapped around her finger. Here she was, in all her glory.

And glory, indeed it was.

I had seen her from afar, but never up as close as she was today - a fact that suddenly and inexplicably made me resent our few encounters. She had long hair that fell down her back in large, loose ringlets. It was the color of raw umber, or cinnamon and it framed her face elegantly - a face so sharp but so beautiful, with skin the color of tanned ocre. Her body moved with such sleek agility, it was astounding - her physique was thin yet toned, an athlete's muscular build but with soft, feminine curves that were much more prominent.

She looked at Ryan, her eyes bright and the color of emeralds, searching his blank and flabbergasted face for some kind of recognition, some sign he realized that she was there, or perhaps knew who she was. She looked him over, with a glimmer in her eye, before taking a quick, sweeping glance around the classroom at the rest of us. She inclined her head politely, almost nervously, and brushed a stray piece of chocolate colored hair nervously back from her face.

"My name is Harlow," she said apprehensively, her voice soft and steady. "I'm sorry, I hope I'm not disrupting anything."

Ryan, who's heart I swore I could see pounding painfully against his chest, gawked at Harlow before pulling his sorry ass together. He slid awkwardly off his desk, shaking his head vigorously and moving his hand convulsively up the side of his leg.

"No, no ... not at all," he said, a voice of forced calm clearly trying to override the one of deep panic.

She grinned, lips parting to reveal an immaculate smile.

"Fantastic," she said, with genuine relief in her voice. "I actually just needed to give you something ..."

Harlow started towards him, her body moving noiselessly across the normally creaky wooden floorboards. As she passed by me, I inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla mixed with poignant coconut. From my seat, I could visibly _see_ Ryan's face go from it's normal tan to a milk white as Harlow advanced towards him. Instead of laughing like I normally would, I felt a sudden great pang of pity for him.

Because I could understand now, his anxiety, his nervousness, his ... _obsession._

I could admit it. She really **was** rather exquisite.

**(Ryan)**

I couldn't believe it.

Walking right towards me, coming closer and closer with each delicate little step she took, was Harlow. I could smell her sweet fragrance, and it clouded my mind, made my heart quicken and filled my stomach with butterflies. I could've keeled over that very second, but let's be real now - that would hardly be a good first impression.

She came to a stop about five feet in front of me, rummaging through her big, patchwork bag, brow furrowed in concentration.

"I swear, I just had it two freakin' seconds ago ... God, they make these stupid things too big," she muttered, shuffling papers and textbooks around. "Ah! Here!"

She pulled out a blue notebook and small, silver pager, and looked up at me grinning. God, she really did have the most perfect face known to man ... and those eyes, sweet Mother Mary. Greener than anything I'd ever seen! Shinier than an emerald, greener than Spring grass, more beautiful than -

"They _are_ yours, aren't they?" she asked me, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, shoot - yeah! They are, sorry, but yeah ... jeeze, thanks!" I said, with just _stunning_ eloquence, just fuckin' _wondrous_. God, I was a **such** a tool. Somewhere to my right, I heard Katrina and Sergey snicker. I'd have to get them back for that later, though I didn't blame them.

She smiled, an even, pearly white one that made your heart melt right on the spot. In **my** humble opinion, anyways. "It's no problem at all. Sorry it's a bit muddy - I sort of stepped on it. Er .. well, rather I kinda didn't see it, then stepped on it and ended up slipping and falling on my face. But I wasn't gonna mention that."

She and I both laughed, her because of her minor misfortune, and me because I was officially talking to the girl of my dreams longer than I had ever imagined I'd be able to without professing my deep sexual lust for her. _No big deal, just mind bangin' you, go about your business, talk amongst yourselves, etcetera, etcetera._

"Well thanks so much," I said. "I owe you one. You didn't hurt yourself too bad, did you?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Couple grass stains, little bit of a bruised ego. But I should make a full recovery. If not, I'll send you the medical bills."

I laughed and nodded, stowing my pager away in my pocket. "Anything you need at all, I owe ya."

She shook her head, and ran a hand through that beautiful head of hair. "It's no biggie, bud, it's happened to all of us."

I saw her eyes wander off and search the classroom incredulously. I felt as if I were frozen in time - I was surrounded by people, my peers and my friends and my students. But they seemed invisible. All I saw, all I heard, all I _felt_, was Harlow. I could barely focus and control myself fifty feet away, nevermind this. We were mere inches apart now. I could smell that sweet coconut, see those tiny freckles that dotted her thin, tanned nose, count every long eyelash on the beautiful face ...

See down that thin, white blouse that was just SCREAMING to be ripped off.

"This sure is one classroom you've got yourself, Ryan," she said, taking a glance around the classroom, big round eyes alight with curiosity.

"Thanks," I said, tearing my eyes away from her and grinning in spite of myself. "Took a long time to get it and even longer to get it looking decent."

"Well you've done a fantastic job," she said thoughtfully, turning her gaze back up to my face (which by now **must've** been the color of cherries). "I always walked past this room on my way to class, I always meant to come in. I used to take a course in one of the rooms a couple down from here."

"Family studies," I said automatically, then immediately regretting my slightly stalkerish-sounding slip.

She looked at me inquisitively. "Yeah, that was it ... were you in that course?"

"Oh, no, no .... uhm, I just, uh - "

"I was in it," said a voice from beside me. Katrina smiled politely at Harlow. "He had to drop off my textbooks a few times ... always forgettin' them in here ... I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to the rest of me."

I made a mental note to grovel at Katrina's feet after all of this. Kat's a girl full of talents, and at the top of that talent list is saving sorry pieces of ass like mine.

"Ahh, I see," said Harlow, with benign little grin. "I knew I recognized you from _some_where!"

"Heh, yeah, that'd be it," said Katrina. "I dropped that class barely a month in, though ... that Professor Froese was just ... "

"Insufferable," Harlow finished, with a laugh. "God, wasn't he just the worst? If I hadn't needed that class for my Psych partner-course, I would've been out of there like _that_."

"I've definitely found much better classes since then. Much more fun and informative," said Katrina, with a glance up at me. I made another mental note to replace Sergey with Katrina as my new wingman.

Harlow smiled at Katrina and turned that lovely gaze back to my face (which felt - and i'm sure it also looked - a little like it was on fire). "Seems like you're doing a pretty decent job here, Prof. I'd love to stop by sometimes, just see what a class is like."

"Stop by anytime!" I said so loudly and enthusiastically, it seemed to cause Katrina to jump back and Eilfie to slop water all over herself mid-sip.

Harlow laughed, a sweet little chortle that made my heart and other body parts (that shall remain unnamed, a-thank you) tingle quite pleasantly.

"I will, most definitely ... do you ever have open classes?"

I nodded. "Yeah, usually once every week or two. Actually, come to think of it, we have one this Wednesday. Please, stop by, it'd be just a pleasure having you."

She frowned, the slightest dent marring an otherwise faultless face.

"This Wednesday? I wish I could make it ... I've got a volleyball game, it's a big playoff game."

"Oh that's right," I said, with a frown I hoped looked more contemplative than completely, horrifically heartbroken. "I saw that on the notice board ... against Pacific Coast College, isn't it?"

She nodded, running a hand through her hair once more. "Yeah, they beat us last year but it's our turn this year ... we've got a much stronger team this time around."

"I've seen you guys practicing out on the campus lawns, you're really good!" said Heather, with a shy little grin.

Harlow beamed back at her. "Thanks! We got a great lineup this year ... PCC is just a bunch of men in short shorts anyways. We've totally got this."

"Well good luck," I said earnestly. "I know you guys - er, girls - will make PSU proud."

She grinned at me, and gave my arm a light pat (which in turn made it go numb and fuzzy, much like my mind and another extensible male body part that we won't mention). "Thanks, bud! I'm sorry I have to miss your Wednesday lecture ... I really would have **loved** to come. Honest."

My heart skipped a beat and I waved a hand awkwardly. It looked like some kind of weird cross between an Army salute and a gay man's sassy wave.

"There'll be other lectures, don't worry," I said.

She nodded. "Keep me update, please? I really can't wait to come down."

From the doorway, there was a loud "AHEM", and I peered up to see a girl, around Harlow's height leaning haughtily on the doorframe. She was pretty, blonde, tall and slim, with arrogant features and an angry face. She was looking directly at Harlow, arms folded and leg crossed over the other.

Harlow sighed, and looked at me apologetically. "Sorry, that's my pissed off ol' bitch at the door, I gotta roll."

"Oh that's okay," I said, with a chuckle. "Bitches, er - _friends_ call."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm only going because she's buying me a dress, I swear. Anyways, it was great meeting you though, Ryan. I hope to talk to you again _very_ soon."

Ignoring my heart that was now trying to escape it's way out of my body through my lips, I nodded and gave the least awkward and most genuine smile I could muster. Which likely looked like a serious case of chronic constipation.

"You too, Harlow. It's been ... yeah, it's been just awesome," I said, so unpoignantly it was disgusting.

She grinned, waved to me and the rest of the gang, and began to walk down to the big double doors at the end of the room.

"Oh, hey! Harlow!" I called, before I could really stop myself.

She turned her head.

"Thanks ... uh, thanks again. For my book. And. And also, for my uh ... my pager."

She winked. "Really, it was no trouble, bud."

And with that cute little wink, that sweet like walk that made her bum wiggle so sweetly and with the last little whiff of coconut-vanilla perfume, she was gone.

And it was literally all but five seconds from her departure that their jokes began.

"Wowzers, Ry! What **eloquence** you possess in front of women!" said Sergey, laughing raucously.

"_It was just such a pleasure having you, such a __**pleasure**__!_" mocked Katrina, wringing my hand jovially.

"COME DOWN ANYTIME, OH IT'D BE SO NICE, JUST COME VISIT ME!" hooted Josh, slapping his leg.

"Oh, you're funny guys, just hilarious," I said, rolling my eyes. "Go on, keep laughing. Jerks."

They could mock me all they wanted, I didn't care - I could barely even hear them.

For it was this very day that I knew once and for all, my heart belonged to Harlow Vincent.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE:**

Oh hello! You see!! It did not take me that long this time around. Well. What's a week or two. I'm sorrrry guys I wish I could update quicker and I truly am trying! I'm just a suck at speedy updates =/ Anyways! Hope you fantabulous, wonderfully sexy, lovely readers of mine enjoyed this chapter! I just wanted to write this one so you guys can kinda of see how crazy Ryan's infatuation with her is ... it's based upon my own secret crush of this guy that was in my Chem class back in grade 10. It was literally like a "Hi I'm Ella, can you please lend me your shirt I want to smell it and sleep with it and wear it and stuff cotton into it and make it into a baby o.O" kind of crush ... yeah. Embarrassing, I know. WOw, I get off topic fast ... YES. SO. The more reviews I get, the more inspired I am to type, and so on. SO! To SurriB, kcollins and Naomi Martinex - THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU, LET'S BE BEST FRIENDS OR SOMETHIN'. You helped write this chapter you wonderfully sexy beasts! I have actually already started on the next chapter, so yay me. Hope you guys enjoy this, have a wonderful fantabuloustical wooshpooshoshpigosh (I make up words when I'm excited) weekend!

**LOVE;** Ellah!


	4. Bust Them Demons

**Chapter Three**

Bust Them Demons

**(Harlow)**

"Maybe him and the witch girl are going to come and cheerlead for ya."

"I seriously doubt that, Soph. Now shut up, I'm trying to zen."

"_Hey Harlow, you're so fine, but forget you, it's paranormal time! Go ghosties, go ghosties, go go - go ghosties!_"

I swore under my breath and closed my eyes, trying to block out Sophie and Natalie's peals of laughter. This 'paranormal cheerleading' as they called it had been going on for two days now - I was on the verge of _literally_ grinding my teeth to little nubs. These girls were going to give me a fuckin' brain aneurysm, I swear to God.

Sophie, bless her cold and loveless little heart, had **'accidentally'** let slip to some of the girls on our volleyball team about an apparent four year crush Ryan Buell had on me (which I _seriously_ doubted), and our allegedly 'awkward'encounter in the PRS classroom. Both of which (the latter I was sure of, anyways), were completely untrue. Although in the case of sweet but occasionally dim Sophie Kapor, you can't really count on her to differentiate between the truth and a lie. So now, 48 hours after mine and Ryan's little encounter, I was the butt of their jokes. Fan-bloody-tastic.

The other girl (who seemed to _also_ love laughing at my alleged misfortune) is the front center on our team, Natalie Martins. A twenty one year old airhead who just _happened _to have a good top spin serve and not much else, Nat has been on the team for the past two years. Although most days she has difficulty stringing two complete sentences together, deep down I think her heart is in the right place - she _is_ a good person. A completely shallow, stupefied shell of a human being, this much was true. But a relatively good one nonetheless.

And well, even if she **wasn't** all that wonderful, she sure as hell had one _killer_ spike. And frankly, that's all I really needed from her.

From the bench opposite of me, I saw her giggle bemusedly and grin that big ol' brainless smile of hers. From my two years of acquaintanceship with her, I knew this could mean one of three things.

Option one, she had thought of something funny and witty to say. (Knowing Nat, very unlikely.)

Option two, she just remembered the name of a guy she made out with at last week's Formal. (Quite probable.)

Or option three, she had just thought about how much she liked cats. (_Very_ likely.)

"No, no, Soph, like .. what about this one," she said enthusiastically, brow furrowed in concentration. "Okay, hum - _Harlow you play volleyball and I think that's pretty neat, when you are done with your game, I like ... _uhm .. wait ... okay, _hey Harlow, you play a wicked game, I think that ghosts are really lame!"_

She probably should've just stuck with the third option.

"Yeah, well that was, uh ... keep tryin'," said Sophie, with as much encouragement in her tone as she could muster (after two years it was hard to gather any at all in the case of dim ol' Natalie). "Here, how about this: '_Hey Lo Vincent, keep double teamin', go spike that ball, then we'll bust some demons! Go, go, go Harlow!"_

"HAH. Oh my gaww, love it! Wait wait, what about like, this - _hey there Harlow, don't think I'm crass, but when yo' done yo game I'm gonna lick yo - "_

"ENOUGH," I said loudly, making a mental note to congratulate Nat later on for using a word like crass in the proper context. "Honestly, get a life. **Both** of you. This has been two days, _non fuckin' stop_ of this shit. Is there really so little good gossip in **all** of Penn State that you've stooped down to the level of making fun of a paranormal investigator that neither of you have ever even talked to before? Really? I'd expect this from you, Nat, but Jesus Soph, of all people, not you."

They were silent for a moment, a look of vexation on Sophie's pale but beautiful face and a contemplatively confused gaze on Nat's decent but noticeably empty one.

"I don't get it," Nat said blankly after a second, looking between Soph and I. "I expect what?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Forget it, Nat. Don't freak out on me, Lo, I'm just playin'. Chill out."

"_You_ chill," I said coolly, feeling a bubble of irritation erupt in my stomach. "We've got something a little more important to deal with right now, Sophie, than finding two words that rhyme with '_ghost-dick'_."

"HAHA," tittered Natalie, clapping her hands in amusement and looking joyfully over at Soph. "She said ghost dick!"

"Shut up, Nat."

"Oh, okay."

Perhaps the two of them had forgotten what we were doing here, but I most certainly had _not_. Right this very second, sarcastic Soph, my irritable little self and the-like,-dumber-version-of-like,-Paris-Hilton (also known as Natalie) were sitting in the girl's locker room in the PSU sports auditorium. In exactly 45 minutes time, these two girls and I (along with our **fan-friggin'-tastic **team, who were [hopefully] on their way down here) would be facing off against PCC, a small college located about 20 minutes outside of Pennsylvania. Although not the most impressive college in the world and with a modest student count of only around 1000 people, their girls volleyball team was fantastic - they had completely slaughtered us in the first round last year.

Truthfully, there was no way in **hell** I was going to let them do that again. The two dimwits in front of me right now might not remember it, but I can recall that loss vividly. It had been my second year as volleyball captain, but my first as the PSU coach.

It stuck to my brain like gum stuck to a shoe - I wasn't ready to relive the embarrassment. While Sophie and naive little Natalie cracked jokes all day, I had been coming up with gameplans every minute since I'd woken up, running through every tactic I knew and every play I could think of. While they tried desperately to think of a relevant word that rhymed with hump, I tried desperately to figure out a place to put Kimmy where she could use her floater technique effectively, whether or not I should bench Ainslee in the first or second set and what to do about Mickenzie's lack of focus. And while they giggled about all the boys they thought harboured deep, dark secret crushes on me, I ravaged every nook and cranny in my brain that could hold some secret volleyball weapon that would help us bring home the championship.

I knew that somewhere in those relaxed and seemingly tension free bodies, they really were suppressing terrible nerves and solicitude about this game. But my frustration was beginning to radiate off my skin like heat waves off of asphalt - their _more_ than obvious lack of outward concern this far along in the season was rubbing me the wrong way, and I swear, one more joke about Ryan Buell or ghosts or '_paranormal porn_', and I was going to tear both of them a new asshole.

Sophie - whose callousness and impervious attitude nearly always got the best of her - seemed to sense my irritation, and in very un-Sophielike fashion, she dropped the jokes. Grudgingly, might I add, but she dropped them in record time.

"I know, Lo. I was just joking around, trying to lighten the mood a bit," she said levelly. "You know me. Instead of shitting my pants over my anxieties, I just tear the piss out of everyone around me."

"Well it's gotta stop," I said resentfully. "Look at it from my perspective, Soph, try and be a little empathetic."

"I wish I could, but I don't know what that word means," she said with a sigh, those icy blue eyes twinkling. "I was born with no emotions or empathy, Harlow, you know that. There is no warmth or kind nature underneath this skin, there is only angry, scorned bitch. You can blame that ice cold whore that calls herself my mother for that one. As far as emotions go, I'm void of em so don't look for sympathy here."

I smiled in spite of myself - she was crude and blunt and frigid, this much was true. But my anger with her never really did last more than 5 minutes - and on a day like today, I needed her more than ever.

"Come on, lets go get the white board - we'll make some gameplans. It'll make you and I both feel a lot better, bud," she said, with an astute little grin.

I nodded, feeling the irritation ease up inside of me. "You're such a kiss ass, Kapor. But I think I really do love you. Somehow, in some way. I do."

Sophie grinned back at me, and wrapped a pale, thin arm around my neck. "Your ass is the only ass I will ever kiss, my sweet potato pancake lovey dovey muffin puffin poo poo face."

She and I both laughed, as Natalie's face lit up brilliantly in front of us.

"OH, I have another one! _Harlow and Randall, sitting on a ghost, K - I - S - I - N - S ... _oh, wait ..."

"It's Ryan Nat, not Randall and ... fuck, forget it. Don't hurt yourself, Champ."

"... I like cats."

**(Heather)**

"So homework tonight, I want one paper on some sort of Parapsychology phenomena. It can be anything you choose - telepathy, precognition, psychokinesis - whatever you want. Just gimme somethin', guys. Remember, we've got a guest speaker all of next week, Chip Coffey - I'll see ya'll Monday."

The students all around me begin to filter out of the room. The keeners of the group already had their books and highlighters out, while the dopes that were only in this to stare at Ryan's ass the entire class were dragging their _own_ asses around the front of the classroom. Dying to strike up a conversation with poor Ryan, no doubt. I shot a sly glance over at Katrina, who grinned back over at me. This was the highlight of our PRS nights - watching Ryan ineffectively fend off the 'LGLBC'.

The _Lonely Girls Love Buell Club, _bahaha_!_

All class, Ryan (who was usually so focused on teaching his lesson it would take a freakin' Molotov Cocktail to take him away from his lecture) was noticeably inattentive. He kept taking these weird, subtly quick glances up at the clock or he'd look shiftily out the window over to the PSU Sports Auditorium or he'd keep taking quick peeks at his watch. Everyone in class just thought he was a little edgy. Kat, Sergey and I?

Well _we _all knew better.

"That was an **awesome** lecture today, Ryyyyy," a girl named Bri said wistfully up at the front.

"It was _reaaaaally_ interesting," said another girl eagerly (I'm pretty sure her name was Denise). "I just _loooved _when you talked about Parapsychology!"

"That was the whole _lesson_, Denise," snapped another girl, whose name I wasn't quite sure of.

"Well yeah that's what I meant!" said Denise, her voice tinged with annoyance. "The whole **lesson** was just **awesome**. Duh."

"Well, thanks ladies," said Ryan distractedly, shuffling around a bunch of papers on his desk. "I'm glad it was informative ... I have to get going, though, sorry to have to dash out - "

"Where are you going?" asked Bri quickly. "Do you want us to walk you there?"

"Do you need me to call a taxi?" asked the nameless girl persistently. "I have my cellphone right here - "

"Nevermind a taxi," snapped Denise. "My cars just right outside!"

"No, no, it's alright," said Ryan uneasily, eyes darting from left to right as he looked for a clear path to the hallway. I couldn't help but laugh. "I've got plans, but thanks anyways .."

Slipping out of their grasp (how he did it, I'm still not sure - sly bugger!), Ryan made a beeline to mine and Sergey's table. "Lend me a hand, my favourite PRS'rs in the entire world," he muttered, taking a glance back to the front of the class. The three girls were eyeing him dreamily. "I'm scared Denise is going to clock me over the head with her bag if we're alone in the hall."

I snickered. "Don't lie, it's what you've been waiting for **all** semester, Ryan."

"Heather, now is not the time to make fun of Ryan for his dirty fantasies," said Sergey evenly. "There will come a time to talk to him about his and Denise's future babies and hours of sweaty, dirty, raunchy, smelly and hot se- "

"No more, no more, no _more_," moaned Ryan, slapping a hand over his face as Serge and I kicked off. "Pass me a friggin' bone, you guys - "

"Ryan are you **sureeee** you don't need a lift? Bri and I are **both** carpooling with Denise, we'd be thrilled to give you a lift back to your house. Or a bar, or whatever you want? Yoo-hooo!"

"Oh sweet Jesus, sweet sweet Jesus," he whined, looking with great terror between Serg and I. Grinning, I looked at Sergey.

"Well I _guess_ he _is_ our friend, Serge ... you're _s'posed_ to help out friends, that's what I was taught."

Sergey sighed, and waved a hand dismissively. "I _got_ this, Heth. Don't worry. You and Kat take him and _run_ like deers. I will handle the future Mrs. Buell. And the other future Mrs. Buell. And the other one. And the other one. And the other one."

"Just because you're saving my ass, I'll let the Mrs. Buell thing slide," mumbled Ryan, as I grabbed his arm and motioned for Katrina to follow. She grabbed her bag and rose swiftly from her chair, hurrying with Ryan and I out the door of the classroom.

"Oh nooo, where is he going?! Ryan! Ry! RYAN! OH RYAN, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

"Urgent, family affair, gotta run," I heard Sergey say quickly. "Great auntie's soul in mortal peril or something, some kind of parakeet possessed, who knows. He's a man on a mission, what can I say."

Katrina and I roared with laughter as we pulled Ryan down the hallway. He toddled along behind us like a little baby, eyes darting nervously at every passing door and passageway. Katrina shot a glance at me, and I smiled in return - if he thought he was getting our help for free, he was _so_ freakin' wrong.

"Now, where exactly are you in such a rush to get to, Ryan?" asked Katrina, innocently as she could. "You just seemed _sooo_ distracted all lecture ... "

"And it wasn't the usual '_oh-sweet-Jesus-Denise-is-staring-at-my-crotch-and-drooling' _distracted, it was something else," I said, thoughtfully as I could manage.

"I don't know what you're - wait, what? She was staring at my crotch?"

"Avidly, yes. But nevermind her bi-weekly Buell crotch-watch," I said impassively. "Where are we whisking you off to so kindly and efficiently, bossman?"

Still looking deeply disturbed at news of his manly bits' newest fan club member, Ryan wobbled along behind us, muttering to himself like some sort of lunatic.

"Nowhere, I just .. just wanted to get out, I was - nothing planned, really, I just ... well, you know - "

"Fine, don't bother telling us," said Katrina in annoyance, shooting him a dirty look. "We're already headed towards the volleyball game, you Harlow-creepin' whacko. It'd be nice if you'd instill some faith in us, though. You know, actually tell us where you're going instead of lying about it."

He flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry."

I rolled my eyes. "Next time, don't try and pretend like you didn't have anywhere to go. We're chicks. We can _sense_ when you're lying to us, it's like ... bred into all women everywhere."

Katrina nodded. "You can't play us, Buell. So don't even try."

Ryan's face brightened a bit. "Oh I could if I wanted to, you know. I just don't want to make ya'll feel bad or anything."

"Don't even start," Katrina said wearily. "Because if you do, I can guarantee you Denise will be receiving your home phone number in the next 24 hours. Guaran-frickin'-**teed**."

He grimaced, and Katrina and I just had to laugh at our poor, sweet, loveable bossman as we all made our way down to the PSU vs. PCC volleyball tournament.

**(Harlow)**

"This is _not_ fucking working. Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK."

I shook my head furiously. "It's like it doesn't matter how good we get ... they're just always a little bit better."

The whistle blew, and the ref raised his arm towards the PCC side of the court. The surrounding audience - about 1,000 PSU students - booed. I swore under my breath, looking over my team intently. We had been practicing for months and months, and our first game - in our home court, nonetheless - and we were being beaten. Not badly, mind you, but losing is losing.

"Fuck this," muttered Sophie, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. "We gotta reassemble."

I nodded, and raised a hand in the air towards the ref. "Time out! Time!"

The referee blew his whistle, and the girls on my team dragged themselves wearily over to where Sophie and I were standing. The girls sitting on the bench walked miserably towards us as well, undoubtedly preparing themselves for some sort of lecture.

I swear, these girls did not give us enough credit - we didn't lecture. We just bitched.

"We suck," Ashlee Klumper (one of our three new girls on the team) muttered. "We're getting completely slaughtered out there."

"No, you're not," I said steadily, frowning at the PCC team. "We're halfway into the set and we're only behind a couple of points."

"They're **too** good," whined Natalie, eyes narrowed on that dim face I longed so badly to punch. "Look at them! It's like they're ... like ..."

"They're fuckin' giants, okay. I am aware that we are officially facing off against disgusting, manly beasts that identify themselves as women," I said, getting a little laugh out of the girls. "Frankly, I think this is unfair, making us play against these ... these - "

"Gorillas?" offered Sophie.

"That would be insulting to gorillas," I muttered, casting a dark look at the PCC coach. A small, wirey old man with coke-bottle glasses, he glared over at me and tapped his watch obnoxiously. "And that coach is going to get a swift kick to the nuts if he doesn't stop tapping his fuckin' watch."

The team laughed, and Sophie and I exchanged knowing glances - one thing we had learned in the three years we had been captains: you get the girls to start laughing, and you're good to go. Get the moods up, their confidence goes up, and everyone's outlook on the game goes up with it. Rule number one for all volleyball coaches in the world:

_**A happy team, is a **__**winning**__** team.**_

"Alright, I think we have a plan," Sophie said evenly, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

"You know it," I said, my face set with determination.

"What do we have to do?" asked Lindsey Thomas, an older player on our team. "Whatever it is, we've got it, Boss, you know it."

"The problem isn't _us_, you guys, okay?" I said encouragingly, looking at each and everyone one of our girls. "We're absolutely fantastic, got it? We are the best fuckin' volleyball team PSU has had in decades. We are a group of talented, athletic, dead friggin' sexy bitches who can win this game **easy**."

Some of the girls exchanged smirks, while some of the others giggled in amusement.

"DON'T LOOK AT ME YOU BUSHY HAIRED FUCK," bellowed Sophie, glaring at the PCC Coach. "YEAH, YOU, DON'T YOU - "

"Sophie," I snapped, over the teams laughter. "Stop it."

"Sorry," she mumbled. "That assbone keeps tapping his watch."

"I know," I said irritably. "Just ignore him. On to our gameplan."

Sophie nodded. "You heard Harlow, girls. We've got this, we're the best team this side of the USA. All we need to do, is - "

"Oh _look_ Harlow, it's that guy you like!"

The entire volleyball team, myself and Sophie looked over to where Natalie was pointing. Walking quickly into the gym, followed by Katrina Weidman and the other sweet girl whose name I wasn't entirely sure of, was Ryan. I felt my heart give a peculiar little flutter in my chest, which I tried (ineffectively, might I add) to brush off. My heart pounded nervously against my chest.

This little disruption brings us to rule number two for volleyball coaches (something Sophie and I had learned the hard way):

_**Keep the team focused, cause once the focus is gone it's almost impossible to bring the fuck back.**_

"You _like_ that guy, Lo?" asked Lindsay in surprise.

"Are you guys like dating or something? You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend, Lo!" our front setter Kimmy Morris said indignantly.

"That's cute ... I thought he was bangin' that weird Elf girl though," added Ashlee. "Did he dump her or something? Cause I mean, he'd be stupid not to ..."

"I'm **not** dating him, you guys," I said exasperatedly. "I've met him _once_, but that's beside the point - "

"Oh thank _God_," our left side hitter Jen Comeau said with obvious relief. "You don't even wanna get involved in that, Harlow. Paranormal creeps like him."

Two or three of the girls nodded in agreement, and I felt my face burn with embarrassment.

"Anyone that's into that kind of thing has most _definitely_ got a couple of screws loose," added Ainslee Peloquin, our spiker.

"Yeah, and have you seen the people in that class? Losers, just about all of them ... Denise Howells is in that class. Gross. Who are those girls with him?" asked Mickenzie Moeglen, a server and right side hitter.

"Two minutes!" the ref called from his post.

"Shit! GIRLS, stop!" I said sharply, my anxiety rising painfully. "Nevermind him, or those girls or anything, that is not exactly the pressin' issue here!"

One or two of the girls looked back over at Sophie and I, while the majority of the other ones eyes flitted back and forth between Ryan, his two friends and me.

"Pay attention!" I snapped irritably. "For the love of _fuck_, girls, come on!"

But the anxiety and annoyance in my voice didn't seem to register with any of them.

"That one girl is kinda cute," said Emma Carson, our middle blocker, blandly. "Weird clothes though ... but relatively pretty face, don't you think?"

"Katrina always seemed so nice too," said Meagan Vella (one of our setters) sadly. "You just never know ... you never know."

"He's not bad looking though," said Mickenzie fairly, eyeing Ryan shrewdly. "Just must be a little fucked up in the head. Who deals with ghosts for a living?"

"Who would like, _want_ to?" said Nat in disgust.

"Nice face though," said Ashlee. "Not bad at all."

"Wonder if he's a good in the sack," said Kimmy thoughtfully.

I slapped my hands over my face and swore very loudly, and very angrily.

"HEY YOU FUCKIN' MORONS," roared Sophie from right beside me. "YOUR CAPTAIN IS TRYING TO TALK TO YOU. HONEST TO JESUS, SHUT YOUR HOLES AND LOOK AT'ER OR YOU'RE ALL KICKED OFF OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN TEAM, **FUCK**."

Rule number three for captains:

_**There is no better assistant in the world than one that has a voice louder than a blowhorn.**_

"Oh sorry," said Emma guiltily, averting her eyes from the three of them. "What were you saying?"

"I was _trying_ to tell you giggly, psychopathic assholes how we are going to win this game. **Regardless** of the hole we've dug ourselves into," I said furiously, ignoring their looks of embarrassment. "Now if you don't mind, and if we can ignore Ryan and his friends for _two very short, very important seconds_, we might have a chance at winning this thing. So listen the **fuck** up."

They shot guilty looks at one another, before focusing completely - well, as completely as this group possibly could - on Sophie and I. Rule number four:

_**99.9 percent of the time, swearing angrily and pointing fingers will not get you anywhere. But that other 0.01 percent, it will be your best and most useful weapon. **_

"Alright, finally," I said. "Soph and I have about 45 seconds here, so listen carefully. We've got 12 excellent girls on this team, but we need six out there for this last half of the set. Kenzie, Ainslee, Meagan, Kimmy, Ash and Jenn, you're sittin' this round out. You've played beautifully, but we've got five minutes left up there and five points to score _just_ so we even can catch up to PCC. Soph and I are going in - we're going to be your liberos."

A look of understanding passed through the group. In volleyball, the two players with the best reaction times and best passing skills are called the liberos. They dealt with the oncoming attacks, whether it be the serves, the spikes - whatever. The entire team knew Soph and I were the at the top of the team (why else would we have been captains?) - and the other team knew it was serious business when the head players came onto the court. Maybe now the stupid, wispy haired coach Assnut wouldn't be so smarmy.

"Nat, you're serving this round, stay in the back, right hand corner. You're our right hitter. Linds, you're our setter so don't let us down, we all know you **got** this, girly."

Lindsey and Natalie both nodded, a look of set determination on Linds' face and a vacant but possibly intent look on Nat's.

"Em, you're our middle blocker," said Sophie roughly, looking darkly out of those cold eyes. "You stay close to Lindsey, don't let her or the ball out of your sight. Got it?"

"You know it," she said, unflinching.

"And you, Jess," I said, looking at the silent and short, mousy-haired girl to my right. "You're my back row spiker."

I saw a look of mingled surprise pass through every girl on the team, but not one of them (not even Natalie) were stupid enough to speak out.

Jess, the youngest girl on the team, was chosen last of all players on the current lineup. She was our most controversial decision, but in the end, I chose her over three other very talented (and very tall) girls - there was something in that young, heart-shaped face that I knew I wanted on the team. So against Sophie and the other girls wishes, Jess was added to our team. And this brings us to our fifth and final (and perhaps the **most** important) rule for captains:

_**Trust your instinct, no matter how crazy people think it may be.**_

"Harlow, maybe ... maybe Ainslee should," said Jess softly. "I've only just started this year, I don't - "

"You're as good as anyone," said Sophie fiercely, casting her a dark look. "She wouldn't have put you on spiker if she didn't have faith that you'd do your job, so don't bitch and just do it."

I glanced at Sophie with a faint smile; most times she made her dislike for Jess awkwardly apparent, but I appreciated her support, however unrefined it may have been. With two captains backing her, not one girl would argue with the somewhat questionable decision.

"Okay," said Jess softly, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. "I can do it."

"Damn right you can," I said with a tad more optimism than I was feeling. "We **all** can. Let's show them who the **hell** we are and just what the **fuck** we can do!"

They gave a cheer, and the four of our current lineup ran back out onto the court, while the other six edged back to our benches quietly. The stands around us erupted with cheers, loud and exuberant.

"You ready to do this, Lo?" asked Sophie, her voice loud and happy - she lived for this kind of rush.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I said softly, adrenaline pumping through every vein in my body.

As Soph and I walked onto the court, I could hear in the back of my mind the cheers of hundreds of fellow students. I could see the stands, filled with people. See the bright lights. See my beautiful Sophie, my wonderful team, the short and fat referee. I could see the other team, shocked, nervous, apprehensive - determined. I saw it all.

But it was his bright smile, friendly wave and shy little thumbs up that _really_ stood out.

I grinned back at that ridiculously sweet Ryan, hoping to _God_ that;

a), I didn't look as gross, grubby and sweaty as I felt.

b), That the churning in my stomach was purely game related and not Ryan Buell related.

And c), that these shorts weren't riding _too_ noticeably up my ass.

**(Ryan)**

"God, her ass looks good in those shorts."

"They have 45 seconds left in their game and a point they need to score if they want to even _tie_, and you're focused on her ass. Really, Buell. Really."

I grinned sheepishly. "I was just observing."

"Try and observe _above_ the panty line, ya Perv," Katrina said flatly, but with a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

I didn't know if that was even remotely possible, but I sure would try.

In all fairness, the game really _was_ quite fascinating. We had walked into the auditorium with five minutes left on the clock - the stands were **packed**, but we managed to find three seats in the very front of the bleachers. There was absolute _minimum_ one thousand people packed into the arena, nearly all of them Penn State supporters. The only time I'd seen more people come out to support a sports team was when we had football games.

Harlow and her blonde, cruel looking friend had been giving their team a talk when we arrived. Harlow's face was tough but kind, her friend's - Sophie, I think her name was - hard and forbidding. We snuck in as quietly as we could, and scrambled to find some seats in the sea of students before us.

The ref had blown his whistle, and six of the girls had made their way back to the bench while four (a redhead, a darker Spanish looking girl, a dirty blonde and a small, mousey looking one) of the players walked back onto the court. A second later, Sophie and Harlow followed to raucous cheering from every seat in the house.

"Look at the guys face, he knows he's fucked!" an excitable guy had shouted from behind me.

"Oh, we've got this, we've got it!" bellowed another one joyously.

"HARLOW, YOU'RE SO FUCKIN' HOT," screamed another voice.

That was ten minutes ago - now, with 45 seconds left on the clock, Harlow and her team needed to score just _two more_ points and they would win the game. I didn't know a lot about volleyball, that much I could admit - but even I was pretty sure the odds of scoring two points in less than a minute weren't very probable. Regardless of mine and seemingly the rest of the stands concern, Harlow and the rest of her team seemed determined.

The whistle blew, and the redheaded girl on the PSU team threw the ball up into the air. With a running start - _SMACK_ - the ball soared over the net and into the opposing team's court. A girl in the back - who's face was uncanny to that of a silverback gorilla - bumped it high into the air, the other members on her team rushing to meet it.

"They're not gonna do it," murmured Katrina, looking sharply at Harlow and her team. "Look at those PCC girls, they're effin' giants ..."

"They've gotten it every time since we started watchin', Kat," whispered Heather, eyes wide with excitement. "They're gonna - oop!"

Another girl on the PCC team, also very apelike in features and swagger, jumped, and her hand met the ball with a deafening **crack**. The ball soared over the net, full speed.

"It's too fast - "

_Pop_!

With a reaction time like none I'd ever seen before, Harlow dropped to her knees and hit the ball back up into the air - and the crowd roared it's loudest yet. Sophie met Harlow's bump with a quick, easy volley and from out of nowhere -

_**BAM!**_

The small, unassuming girl I'd seen amble slowly out onto the court before met the volleyball with a thunderous fist - it flew fast and hard over the net, and hit the ground on the opposite side with a _plunk_.

"Holy mother of God," I heard a voice yell behind me. "DIDJA SEE NUMBER 17?! SHIT SON!"

"Good, fuckin' good!" I heard Sophie cry out from the court. "That's **exactly **what we needed, Jess, GOOD!"

"Twenty seconds," I heard Harlow say intently. "That's just enough time - don't hit to rally, hit to **score,** you got that!"

"Got it!" the team said back to her.

The redhead girl caught the ball, and the crowd fell silent. You could've heard a pin drop - no one was breathing. One, two, three steps and - _BAM_ - the volleyball was in motion. The opposite team bumped it, pushed it, slammed it - Sophie met it with arms out, the Spanish girl volleyed it up and the plain little pixie in the back met it with her fist and a reverberating smash. To the other team - bump, volley, spike - and back to our team with another bump, volley and spike. It went back, then back again, then back, then back one more time -

"Five ... four ... three - "

"Go, Jess, _go now!"_

Harlow's voice resounded off every wall in the gym, but died the moment little 17's palm met the volleyball with the loudest crash I'd heard yet. It soared, soared, fell, fell and with a gut-wrenching smack -

it hit the floor dead on.

The buzzer sounded, was met by silence, and then ...

Screams, cheers and the roaring of a crowd louder than five jet engines. The girls sitting on the edge of the benches screamed, ran to meet their teammates in a group hug, the hug encircling the petite little 17 completely. No one seemed to notice PCC's cries of loss and fury. Beside me, Heather and Katrina screamed along with the rest of the crowd, caught up completely in the game.

On the court, Harlow had broken away from the rest of the team's giant bear hug and had made her way over to the opposite side of the net. She walked, straight backed and eyes focused calmly at the small, puffy haired coach of the PCC girls. She slowed and stood in front of him. He looked her over shrewdly, before nodding slightly and meeting her outstretched hand with his own. She smiled at him, said something I couldn't decipher, and nodded gamely at the rest of the PCC team.

I could feel every bone in my body aching to run over to her - I'd spoken with her once and only once, but I felt like I already knew her better than anyone. Everything in me longed to pick her up and hug her, never let go. Touch that smooth, toned skin. Feel the soft, silky chestnut brown hair on my face. Smell that sweet, vanilla coconut smell that radiated off her. Look into those big green eyes, meet those soft, pink lips with my own - everything in me burned to be with her.

"THEY WON, THEY WON, THEY WON," Heather and Katrina screamed in unison beside me, shocking me out of my ridiculously farfetched daydream.

"They won!" I cried, jumping up along with the rest of the crowd (a little late, but no one seemed to notice). "They won, they won!"

"I don't know _how_ they did it," said Heather joyously. "But they did it! Sweet Jesus, they did it!"

"Did you see that little one?!" exclaimed Katrina. "She was amazing! Who'd have thought - tiny little thing, but _shit_ can she ever hit!"

"Did you see the blonde girl, though!" said Heather wondrously. "She _smoked_ that thing!"

"Harlow was amazing," I said, a bit more dreamily than I could help. "Never seen anything like her."

"Awe, shucks," came a voice from behind me. "You're far too kind, bud!"

That sleek, alluring voice I'd been dreaming of for days now sent shivers down my spine, and I whirled around. In front of me and my more than likely beet red face, was Harlow - flushed, seemingly worn out but beaming.

"Oh! Yeah, no - jeeze, no problem," I mumbled.

God help me. I really had to work on this '_complete sentences, no drooling or gawking at boobies around women_' thing. I was terrible at it.

"I'm so glad you guys could make it!" she said cheerfully, looking zestfully at Heather and Kat. "Class cut short?"

"Naw," said Katrina easily (I'd have to get some tips from Mrs. Smooth over here). "We finished about 8:00 - just enough time to come and see you guys whoop some _serious_ ass!"

Harlow laughed. "Barely! I didn't think we were gonna win that one."

"But you did," said Heather excitedly. "As a rule, I freakin' hate sports, but that was a _killer_ game!"

"You're one hell of a coach," I said, this time miraculously managing _not_ to stutter over every syllable, turn cherry red _or _accidentally peer down Ms. Vincent's top. Oh joy!

"Awe, thanks! It's not me, though, the girls on the team are just fantastic - I'm lucky I've got such a steller team this year," Harlow said demurely, running a thin hand through her hair.

"Harlow!" called a voice from the center court - a cute Korean girl with the number '8' jersey waved Harlow down. "They need you for press! Stop chattin', Boss, get your butt over here!"

"Oh _fuck_, right ... I forgot. I'm comin'," she called back.

She turned back to us apologetically. "I'm sorry, I gotta run ... this is the worst part of winning," she grumbled. "But really, thanks for coming down, guys! On behalf of myself and the rest of my team, we appreciate the support."

"Our pleasure," said Katrina.

"Keep us updated, let us know when your next game is," said Heather.

"I'll let you know as soon as I do," promised Harlow. "Before I go, I initially came over here because I wanted to know if you guys are busy tonight? We're throwing a party to celebrate our first win of the season, it's in the old Science building. Nothing big or exciting, just a bunch of volleyball nerds gettin' plastered. You guys should come!"

I didn't hear the rest of the conversation between Harlow and the girls. My mind had just exploded.

Well no, not really. But within a two day span, I had not only talked to Harlow "ass-looks-good-in-short-shorts" Vincent, but I had been invited to a party by her. I was completely, utterly, **horrifically** overwhelmed.

But at the same time, I don't think I could remember a time in recent memory when I had been _this_ friggin' excited.

"You'll come, Ryan?"

I looked, slightly alarmed at the sound of my name, and met Harlow's gaze. She smiled brilliantly, bright green eyes glimmering.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I managed to choke out.

"Excellent!" she said, clasping her hands together happily. "I'll see you guys tonight!"

She waved a dainty little hand at us, turned and jogged back to the circle of her teammates and the surrounding local press. The blonde co-captain, who I have decided to call Sophie regardless of if that's her name or not, shot me a hard, searching look, but turned her back a moment later.

"You know it's a shame, Ryan," Katrina said sadly, and I jumped at the sound of her voice. She gave me a dirty look and I flushed guiltily.

"What's a shame?" I asked innocently.

"The victory party starts in two hours and that's not gonna be _nearly_ enough time for Heather and I to teach you how to talk to a woman without shitting yourself and blubbering like a baby."

I sighed, admittedly I totally deserved that jab.

"You're right. Not enough to teach me _everything_," I said fairly. "But it'll at least give you some time to gimme some pointers on how **not** to be blatantly obvious when I stare at a chest. Or you know, how **not** to choke on my own tongue everytime I try and compliment someone. You can at least teach me that much, can't you?"

Katrina looked sadly at Heather, then back over to me. "I'll try, Buell. I'll try."

* * *

****

Author's Note:

OH HAI. Sorry for the longish time between updates! In all honesty, I'm having immense difficulties with this freakin' story, it's driving me nutso. This chapter turned out decently, I think, but it literally took me three days of tweaking, editing and pulling my hair out before I thought it was publishable, haha! SO. SurriB, kcollins and ashleymaria. Did you three know that I ADORE you and your reviews? Everytime I got discouraged typing this up, I would get an alert on my beloved Blackberry about some sweet, kind, wonderful review you guys gave and I would be inspired to write again! OH JOY, how I love you all!

**kcollins:**

_No Facebook for me! I'm actually a computer dinosaur ... believe it or not, HA. I can barely log myself onto this site, nevermind try and figure out you youngin's darn fangled Facebooker thinger! It would be funnier if I was actually old and said that ... the sad thing is, I'm only 18. Sigh._

AS FOR THE REST OF YOU. Y'know. All nine of you that've put me on story alerts and all six of you that have me on story favorites. OH, HAI. I can see you, sneaky snakes! And I would love your input on this little ol' story of mine. I need your lovely inspiration, so please stop hidin' and gimme some suga! Don't make me call you out! As for the next chapter, I have it all planned out in my head, so here's hoping it doesn't take me too long to type it all out. I make no promises, though. I type at snails pace. Poo.

SO. Please! Read, **review**, and enjoy! Thanks for all your lovely comments (you make me feel needed and loved and all the fluffy goodness) and I will update ASAP. Have a good week, guys and girls and everything inbetween! (L)

**Love; **Ellah!

**Pee Ess!**

I should also mention that the language in this story will only get more and more foul as the chapters progress. I'm considering bumping it up to an 'M' rating, but we'll see! Just a warning :)


	5. From Paranormal Geek to Party Kid Chic!

**Chapter Four**

From Paranormal Geek to Party Kid Chic!

**(Heather)**

"I'm going to shit myself. No, I'm not even kidding you guys. Hey - _hey, _don't laugh at me, Heather. I'm not joking, I'm going to shit solid bricks of fear **everywhere** and it's _not_ going to be pretty."

Maybe it was the sincere panic in the poor guy's voice - maybe it was the freakin' **awesome **mental image I had of him with no control over his bowels - I wasn't entirely sure. But something about his horrifically, gut-wrenchingly terrible situation struck me as friggin' hilarious. It was with a heavy heart (but not really) and a guilty conscious (well ... no, definitely not) that I laughed my wee ass off at poor (silly), poor (stupid), poor (rather hopeless) Ryan.

"Shut up," he mumbled (which coincidentally, did not at_ all_ help my case of the giggles). "I'm so nervous, I think I'm going to die. Yep. That's the end of the ol' Buell-meister. I'm going to die of anxieties. This is my spoken will - Kat, you get Xander. Heather, you get my Magic Bullet and dragon tie."

"How about you keep your tie and blender and just give me all your money?"

"You're not going to _die_," Katrina said testily. "God, you're a bigger drama queen than freakin' Sergey."

"Drama _king_," he corrected grumpily. "And I am **not**."

I tried to cover a snicker - I did, really I did! - but Buellster heard it: I felt a swift, light smack connect with the back of my head.

"HEY!"

"What."

"You can't hit a girl!"

"That was not a _hit_, that was a gentle, friendly ... _tap_."

"That was a hit! A blatant smack!"

"It was just a '_you-are-an-ass-for-laughing-at-my-all-consuming-pants-crapping-bout-of-panic_' love tap."

"I'm gonna love tap your **face **with my knuckles."

"I would like to see you try, Taddy."

"Come here, I'll show you _right_ now, sucka!"

"For the love of God, you two, **quit it**," Katrina snapped.

"She started it," Ryan muttered.

"Did **not**!" I yelled, punching him in the arm.

As you (likely) may have guessed, we were all just a _liiiii_-ttle edgy tonight. We were literally fifty steps away from the volleyball party - _fiff-freakin-tee_! Normally, a party is a party, but tonight? Tonight is very, _very_, different. I speak on behalf of all three of us when I say that a), not only were we not at** all** in our element - but b), each one of us was** horribly** aware of this.

Oh and y'know, by element I mean the whole '_popular kid sport celebration drinking parties_' environment we were about to thrust ourselves into. We were;

a), not popular.

b), we chased ghosts and demons, not soccer balls.

c), we only drank with our other fantastically loveably nerdy peers (hey, don't knock on it, you don't even **know** the hilarity and serious fun that is to be had whilst beer bongin' with some Pagans).

And d), our parties consisted of Mike's Hard Lemonade, Scrabble and 'pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey'. Which is not exactly on the same level as the college "**vodka, random sex, 'oh-god-they-caught-WHAT-on-film'**" kind of party we were about to attend.

So _this_, folks, is why on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday night, our nutty and slightly edgy little trio was making its way down to the old, abandoned Science building located about fifteen minutes off of the main campus.

The old science building was a huge, brick structure perched up on a steep hill and surrounded on three sides by a densely wooded area. I'd only walked by a couple of times in my three short years here at Penn State, but from what I'd heard from other students and even from some of the dear old faculty, this place was haunted with a capital '**BOO**'.

So _really_, in a strange way it _was_ appropriate that half of our PRS TV Team was headin' down there! It just wasn't for a paranormal investigation this time - it was for a beer bongin', avoiding-the-likely-date-raped-punch and watching two of the jocks joust with dirty, rancid toilet brushes instead.

This transformation, it was quite amazing, really - a mere two and a half hours ago, Kat, Ryan and I were but normal University students. Crawlin' through haunted attics, researchin' famous demonologists, studyin' pictures of orbs and apparitions.

....

Okay, _fine_. Maybe not _completely _normal. But we had pretty basic, boring, somewhat monotonous familiarity in our lives. But it had all changed in a matter of hours - in fact, lets skip ahead to right this very **FREAKIN'** second:

**WE WERE THE COOL KIDS.**

Well to be fair, not cool. We were just three ghost huntin' geeks on our way to a cool person _party_. Big difference there, maybe later on I'll give you a brief overview of the differences between being a loser with cool kids and being a cool kid amongst cool kids. But! On with the story! Got to keep on track.

Here is a very simple, easy to follow timeline I've put a lot of thought and effort into (okay fine, you caught me - I basically just made it up in my head like ten seconds ago) explaining how we went from bottom of the totem pole to top in two hours _flat_! (Which in all fairness, is thanks to Ryan's apparently alluring '**When I see pretty girls I drool, When I see Harlow my lunch comes back up to visit**' sex pot talent.)

**Heather Taddy's official "From Paranormal Geek to Party Kid Chic" timeline:**

**One hundred and fifty minutes ago**, we were but ghostie wallflowers, floating from one class to the next, ignored by some, disliked by many, respected by none.

**One hundred and twenty minutes ago**, we found ourselves face to face with Harlow Vincent, cool kid extraordinaire and Ryan's fantasy wife. Of course, the last one is a secret ... that's not actually all that big of a secret (four years of tripping over garbage cans everytime she walks by is a _dead_ giveaway, sorry to say).

**One hundred and ten minutes ago**, Kat and I were attempting to soothe a panicking, completely mentally unstable Ryan down as we made our way back to his place (you see, it seems he didn't **fully** comprehend Harlow's wonderfully friendly little invitation until _after_ her and her athlete ass were out of his face - freak out, commence).

**One hundred minutes ago**, Katrina was ducked behind the couch and I was cowering behind a bookshelf as we tried to avoid being knocked out cold by Ryan's flailing, excitable body that was now lurching about his and Sergey's modest apartment. It seemed that finally, the freakin' numbnut had understood Harlow's invitation and was just a _wee_ bit excited.

**Sixty minutes ago (that's a mere **_**hour**_** ago, folks!)**, Katrina and I were going over our lesson on the basic how-to's of looking at boobies with subtle chivalry and not professing your deep and undying love to a stranger with our cute but naive little Ryan. Because lets face it, people, I think ol' Buellster needs these lessons **bad**. (Oh, bee tee dubbs [that's cool kid abbreviation for 'by the way'], look for mine and Katrina's book, it's coming out on an eBay near you sometime in the not so near future - _Weid-Taddy's Guide to Landing A Girl and NOT A Restraining Order_. Don't worry, Ryan's already reserved his copy).

**Fifty minutes ago**, we were teaching Buelly how to have a proper conversation with a girl without swallowing his own tongue (this proved to be much more difficult than we originally thought). It seems even at the mention of Harlow, Ryan's tongue swells up to the size of a cows and he becomes this stuttering, slurring mess. It's really quite terrible, and **very** unattractive.

**Thirty minutes ago**, we were explaining to a very confused and very foreign Sergey why Ryan was standing in front of his mirror repeating "_'you look very lovely this evening'_. Ah, no. '_Why hello, you look __**very**__ lovely this evening'_. No, fuck. _'HELLO, YOU LOOK VAIRRRY NICE_'. No, no, no." (Try as we did to help his poor soul, Ryan still ended up sounding like a very southern Borat with his solicitations. "VAI-REE NYYYCE, HOW MACHHH," Katrina had responded to his initial attempts [this did not improve his self esteem, FYI]).

**Fifteen minutes ago**, we were seriously contemplating the pros and cons of forcing an anti-anxiety pill down Ryan's throat. We just wanted to calm the poor bum down. We were going to use a horse tranquilizer, but funny as that might have been to _us_, a combination of Harlow tongue swelling and **actual** tongue swelling could be a liiiiittle dangerous.

**AND NOW, 2 and half hours after our initial unknowness** - we were on our way to our first sports kegger. Ever. And when I say ever, I mean _ever_ - all my Keg knowledge I learned from the American Pie movies.

As out of our domain as we might've been, we were still ridiculously excited. I for one, was so freakin' stoked I could've **died**! Katrina? Well, she lived for parties - she was the queen of all things rowdy. And Ryan?

"I have that awful pants shitting sensation coming on again ... "

Well ... when Harlow was involved, he couldn't really hack it.

"We're almost there, Ryan," Katrina said irritably. "You can't back out now, stop being such a puss."

"I'm not backing out," he said roughly. "I'm just letting ya'll know the thought of being able to even see her, let alone be in the same room as her, is giving me a potentially serious case of IBS. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"How thankful we are you've shared with us stories of your irritable bowels," I grimaced.

"Friends for evv-err!"

We rounded the last corner and finally, the building was in sight! It was even more magnificent than I remembered - tall, beautiful and old, with spacious grounds surrounding it, a crystal clear pond on the east side and a huge, towering willow on the west. Man, this shit didn't look haunted at _all_! Faintly, heavy bassed music could be heard coming from inside the great structure - muffled voices, loud and happy. The curtains had been drawn tightly, masking whatever it was that was happening in the giant building.

I looked over at Katrina and Ryan. Katrina's face was bright, happy - illuminated. Ryan's was pale, anxious but determined. I grinned, and threw my arms into the air.

"Sports kegger," I shouted. "HERE COMES THE PARANORMAL NERDS, **WATCH OUT**!"

"Thank God she did that out here," Katrina said blandly. "Y'know, like we aren't gonna be misfits enough as is."

"Just in case she does it again once we get in there," Ryan said loudly to Katrina. "We came with each other, we don't actually know who she is."

"Assholes," I muttered. "I should've worn my '_I'm with Katrina Weidman and Ryan Buell'_ shirt."

The two of them laughed and I pouted as Katrina grabbed mine and Ryan's arm and dragged us - rather forcefully, might I add, **ow** - up the broad, stone steps of the Science building. AND WE WERE OFF.

Nerds? Yes. Ghost geeks? Yes. Cool kids? No. Nerdy ghost geeks hanging out with the cool kids?

_Definitely_ yes, bay-bee!

**(Harlow)**

"Harlow, I juss ... I juss gotta tell you some-thin, oh kai?"

I sighed, and a ran a hand irritably through my hair. "Of course you do, Meg. You've been saying that to me every five minutes for the last hour."

"Yeah no, I know, but it's serrr-ee-usss this time, okay," she slurred, her beer swaying fiercely along with her.

"Okay," I said, steadying her slightly with my hand - she grabbed onto my arm tightly. "What did you want to tell me? Last chance, Meggy Poo."

"I juss wanted to tell you, and -**hic!**- and say ... say that," she hiccuped. "You ... are ... -**hic!**- ... _awwwe-summ, _Coach."

"That is pretty serious," I agreed, trying to pry her fingers off of my forearm - drunks had literally perfected the '**Grip O' Death**', I swear. "Well, thanks Meg - I appreciate it. Now c'mon, I'm gonna take you back to Chris, he's gonna take care of you, alright?"

"Oh why! Whyyyy, aren't we friends 'n stuff?"

"Yeah, Meg, of course we are," I said, patiently as I could. "Unfortunately, I need to mingle with the rest of the people here, and that's proving to be **very** hard to do with serious drunken dead-weight on my arm."

"Waitwaitwaitwait ... b-before you go - whooo in the holy **fuck** is Chris," she garbled.

"Your boyfriend of two years."

"Oh, **thaaaat** Chris."

I laughed and began awkwardly steering a _severely_ drunken Meagan over to the small couch in the front foyer. The old science building had been the perfect spot for one of our post-celebratory parties - it was remote enough for no faculty to disturb it but close and well-known enough for people to actually _find_ it. The building in itself was beautiful, both inside and out - four stories set in red brick, the upper three floors filled with old classrooms and laboratories and the main floor serving as a kind of study hall/house.

When you walked into the main doors, you were in a relatively quant entrance room - dark, dingy but cozy. The moment you stepped out of the front into the main room, you could truly see the building's magnificence. Large, open concept rooms leading from one living area to the next, bookshelves stocked with all types of Bio books, med journals, chem textbooks - everything. Old, rickety chairs and _ancient_ plush couches, cobwebby chandeliers and old, marvelous picture windows. It was a nerd's dream home, and being a nerd myself (loud and proud!), I knew just how terribly it hurt my heart to know that this beautiful building was no longer in use.

Well, you know. **Besides** the two hundred plus people drunkenly swaying about the main floor right this very moment. Hm. As a matter of fact, nearly_ three_ hundred if you counted the bodies that remained invisible to the untrained - er, rather un'_gifted'_ - eye.

Anyways! Poor sweet, lightweight Megan was one of the live, horrifically plastered ones staggering about the rooms - as a last ditch effort, I ended up propping her snugly against my chest and half dragged/half carried her over to her boyfriend, Chris Walters (who, may I just add, was a _super_ nice guy, super _smart _guy and oh yeah - not exactly hard on the eyes either - mee-_oww)_.

Chris and several of his buddies - some I recognized, others I don't think I'd ever seen before - were seated around an antique, mahogany table littered with old diagrams and lab sheets (the geek in me was in complete **anguish** at the sight of their beer bottles staining the near mint-condition reports and medical journals - save the books! Save them, save them, _save them_, oh **GOD! **[luckily, I pulled myself together, but I will forever be haunted by the image of these wasted, beautiful papers, just FYI]). I dragged the tiny but dead weighted Megan over towards them, huffing and puffing and doing my absolute best to keep myself and Megan from toppling over. Chris peered up, caught a glimpse of the mass that _was_ Megan and I, and burst into laughter.

"She's done," I informed him needlessly, as we came to an unsteady halt in front of the couch - Megan let out a loud burp, and her head rolled pathetically to the side.

"No kiddin'," he said with a grin, standing and gently wrapping an arm around her waist. "Didn't take much ... what, she's up to five beers before conkin' out now?"

"You've got too much faith in her. She had four," I said listlessly, carefully letting go of her waist.

"Figures," he said with a sigh, as Megan giggled and smooshed his face lovingly and drunkenly with her shaky hands. "Shnanks, Herrlawww."

"Hey, Harlow," one of Chris' friends called from the couch, a good lookin' Spanish boy I'd seen a couple times before. "You here with anyone tonight?"

"Sophie," I responded, looking warily over my shoulder. "You haven't seen her, have you?"

"Likely passed out somewhere," he said, and I hated to admit it but he was probably correct. "If you need another piece of arm candy, well hey - here I am."

"Sorry bud," I said apologetically. "Sophie's my one and only - I don't really _do_ arm candy."

"Hey, Doll, I'd **definitely **count her as arm candy," he said.

"More of a bitch anklet, actually," I said blandly. "Thanks for the offer though, but I think I'd prefer to keep myself - and my arms - free tonight."

"Fair enough," he said with a smile. "If I see Soph I'll let her know you're lookin' for her."

I smiled politely, then turned and began to push my way back through the crowd of people. The old building was **packed** - our volleyball team (the guests of honor, of course!), the Penn State football players (you know how jocks are - they seem to think that a position on the University football team is synonymous with a permanent party invite for every get together **ever** - and I hate to admit it, but it's sort of true), the boyfriends/girlfriends of the team, the prissy sluts who were lookin' for some serious jock-cock tonight and some other randoms from off campus. Out of the two hundred or so people here, I knew of about twenty five percent of 'em. Talked to only about five percent. Cared about approximately one percent.

I managed to slide my way (amazingly, ungroped) through the crowds of dancing sluts and man whores, and clambered in my horrifically graceless way up the large staircase and away from the swaying, stumbling people below me. I surveyed the scene grumpily - the music was loud and obnoxious, the football players even loud_er_ and obnoxious and the only people I really gave even a little bit of a shit about seemed to be MIA. Where Sophie was, I didn't know. Jess, Lindsey - who the fuck knew. All I had was a Corona, a frown and -

"HARLOW I AM SO DRUNK I CAN'T FEEL MY FACE."

_Sigh_. And Natalie "_Cat-Girl_" Martins. Fan-fuckin'-tastic.

"You want me to punch it for you," I asked wearily.

"Would that work?" she asked, intrigued.

I blinked, and shook my head in frustration. "I'm tired, Nat. Go mingle or go get more beer or something."

"From the fridge?"

"No from the toilet."

"Why is it in the toilet?"

"That was sarc - fuck. Just go, Nat. Just go."

She smiled lopsidedly and staggered off into the masses. I kicked myself for being so rude, but in all honesty, I was just **not** in the mood to deal with Natalie right now - not without Sophie, anyways. It takes a lot of patience and endurance to deal with drunks in general, nevermind a Natalie drunk. Right now was _not_ the time for me to even attempt it.

You see, it hadn't even been three hours since we won our first game, but my euphoria and thrill had **long** worn off. As you may have been able to tell, these big, boisterous house parties? They _really_ were **not** my thing. The schmoozing, the drinking, the slutty dancing, the loud music - really wasn't my cup of tea. I'd rather be at home in my jammies with a good book than be here, grinding with a bunch of roid ragin' jock dicks.

I swear to you, it's not that I'm an unsociable person. I like meeting new people as much as the next girl! But after three days of two hour lectures, one opinion piece report and three essays on the study of modern Behaviorism and one week _straight_ of volleyball practice - well, I hope you can understand why I was _less_ than thrilled to be here and not in bed.

Oh! Not to mention another teensey little fact that holds some definite and important relevance here - we are in an old, abandoned and rather creepy building. An old, abandoned, rather creepy and **haunted** building. Did this bother anyone else? Nope. They were **faaaaar** too drunk to give a shit. _Should_ it bother anyone else? Naw, why would it?

What's that? Then why is it bothering _me_, you ask?

Why, lemme tell ya!

**I. SEE. DEAD PEOPLE.**

And I don't mean that in a cute, '_kid-from-the-Sixth-Sense-movie_' kind of way, I mean that in an "oh for the love of **GOD,** this old, miserable asshole of a ghost man has been screaming in my ear for the past thirty minutes" kind of way. No. Actually. Through all the cheering and singing and jock yelling, **this** was all I could hear:

"MISERABLE BRATS - INCONSIDERATE, SLIMY BASTARDS. I'LL CALL THE HEAD OFFICE, DON'T YOU DOUBT THAT. YOU INSOLENT LITTLE TWITS - GET OUT OF MY BUILDING, GET OUT GET OUT **GET OUTTTT**!"

Yeah. Parrr-teeee.

I grit my teeth and winced slightly at that terrible, loud and bitter husking voice blaring in my right ear - fantastic, just fuckin' awesome. This was just _perfect_. Not only was I bestfriendless, dateless and not even a _little_ bit drunk, but a dead seventy something year old caretaker from the 60's was shitting serious bricks in my ear. What a fabulous Wednesday night this had become!

Ignoring those terrible rasping cries of fury that engulfed the entire main floor (for no one except _me_, of course), I began my descent into the thick crowd of people once more. I had contemplated for a full three seconds and decided that now would be a good time to find my jacket and get the **hell** out of this mess. Yes, I was Team Captain. Yes, I was supposed to be present. Yes, I was supposed to thank everyone for coming and schmooze and drink and party. But there would be another time for all of that - right now, it was time for a scraggly old shirt, fuzzy bunny slippers and a cold ass pint of Ben and Jerry's. Mmm, I could taste it now.

I concentrated fiercely on the task before me - all I had to do was picture how fabulous a warm fire, a creamy pint of Chunky Monkey ice cream and cozy, oversized t-shirt was, and I could make it out of this complete shit hole _without_ having a break down.

In fact, I was so close to the coat room - so _freakin_ close!** - **that I could've easily made it in and out and gotten the fuck out of here in maybe two minutes I guess some things just aren't meant to be.

Through the crowd, I caught sight of a familiar but slightly out of place lookin' face across the room. I could almost **feel** my whole heart swell with happiness and suddenly - inexplicably - my ditch-the-Kegger mission seemed not all that necessary or important. The immanency in my task vanished and before I could help it or control it, my body stopped, turned and beelined straight towards that handsome and terrifically awkward lookin' face.

A feeling of such tremendous relief swept over me as I lumbered quickly and with extreme difficulty (God, there were drunks **everywhere**, where in GOD'S name had they come from?!) over towards the small but significant face in the crowd. Finally, he was here! Maybe this night wouldn't be such a dud afterall?

Oh, hey ... I almost forgot! I have something to tell you guys. Lemme fill you in, bring you into the loop. Tell you a little secret, one I haven't told **anyone** (besides the whole ghost thing, anyways, but that's so secret it doesn't even _count_ as a secret - that's how secret the ghost secret is!).

Anyways! Here it is - ever since my brief encounter with Ryan Buell on Monday, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

I mean, obviously my mind was completely distracted and filled with anxiety for the upcoming volleyball match - that was no surprise. But everytime I found one second in my day to relax and ignore the constant libero drills, team placement problems, essay and report writing, scholarship application problems I had running through my mind -

I thought of him.

Why? Well, fuck if I knew. But in complete honesty, it was kinda, _sorta_, **totally **the highlight of my day. To forget the mind-numbing daily pains, and think solely of the sweeter things.

Why his face popped into my mind so many times a day, I couldn't even begin to comprehend it (I was supposed to be graduating in _two years_ with a degree in Psychology, and I couldn't even unravel the devastation and chaos that was my **own** brain, yikes - _not_ a good sign). I mean, I'd just met the guy two days ago! In fact, I don't even remember seeing him walking around the campus all that much, and I'd been here for four years - but for the past forty eight hours, my mind had been nothing but books, Freud, volleyball and Buell.

Was I drawn to him because of his line of work? Possibly. Did I gravitate towards him because subconsciously, I felt like he would understand my secret? Maybe. Maybe I just thought he was really good looking? Definitely a high possibility.

I didn't know how old he was, what he did besides PRS, if he had siblings or a good home life. I didn't know his favorite bands or food, what kind of person he really was or if he liked the same things as me. I didn't know if he had a girlfriend, even _wanted_ a girlfriend - was even attracted to girls? I knew nothing about him. **Nothing**.

The only thing I _did_ know - and felt confident enough to admit - was that there was something so awfully endearing and earnest and intriguing about this guy, that I wanted - _needed_ - to know more.

But all these questions and all these feelings, they were irrelevant in this moment of time. I didn't need to know all the answers or all the right things to feel. Not right now, anyways.

All I needed and all I wanted _right now_ was to be with him. With one other relatively sane soul in this sea of meandering, overtly horny and immensely aggravating assholes.

When I got closer to him, I saw he was with the two girls from the volleyball game. Katrina, the taller one and beside her the small, skinny one. Her name was Heather Taddy, Jess had told me, and she was stupendously sweet - she had been in Jess' Enrichment French class. Katrina and Heather both seemed heavily immersed in a conversation with a stout, toad-looking girl in front of them. Her name was Tara Chartrand and she was a busybody extraordinare, stupid, worthless twat and constantly-on-my-ass-about-everything bitchface.

This may come as a surprise, but I hate that bitch.

Grudgingly (thanks to friggin' Tara), I approached them and I saw Ryan glance over in my direction. He didn't seem to be involved in that conversation (which just made me like him more; thumbs up to being bored by Tara!) - his face was distant, slightly anxious. His eyes locked onto mine, and he smiled. I waved a hand, timidly and smiled back. He did the same, and I felt - to my complete and utter embarrassment - my stomach flop uncomfortably. I wanted to blame the punch, but deep down, I knew that alcohol had nothin' to do with this. Ah, shit.

"Hi," I said happily, breaking through the thick crowd of winos. "I'm glad you could make it!"

"I'm glad I could make it too," he said, with a grin. "You look lovely tonight!"

I clamped down hard on my tongue to keep from flushing, and rubbed a hand nervously up and down the side of my leg - a habit I **really** had to break. Lovely? I doubt it - more like a large, awkward, lumbering mess. But, it was sweet of him to ignore the ugly bits. "Oh, thanks! You're looking quite dashing yourself!"

Dashing? OH GOD, the _shame_. I made a mental note to slap myself when I got home tonight - who besides possibly your grandmother says the word dashing anymore? Oh right. ME.

"Thanks," he said, and I saw a faint pinkish hue appear on his cheeks (which, in an odd sort of way, relieved me - at least I wasn't the only one completely mortified by my own horrific awkwardness). "You athletes sure do throw a pretty decent party."

"Oh, we try," I said bashfully (why was I bashful? Why? I don't know. Because I'm a loser, that's why - God, strike me down now). "It's not too hard, we just gotta find a decent place, big enough for the lot of us."

"Which, by the way, I hope you talked to the faculty about," a voice said loudly, and to my immense irritation saw Tara sneering over at me. "Hello, Harlow."

"Tara," I sighed, trying to control the bitch that was just **aching** to be released. "Pleasure, as always."

"Likewise," she said, in that **god awful** voice of hers - UGH, the nasal-ness of it! It was like Fran Drescher, except it's horrific grating amplified by like, a _million_. "I was just talking to Kathrine and Hannah here, and they said they got the invite from you. Did you check to make sure you were at least under the building capacity?"

"It's a five storey building," I said irritably. "There's less than two hundred people here. I _think_ we're under capacity."

"You don't think you should cut the number down a bit?" she asked condescendingly. "_Just_ in case?"

OH, MAN. BITCH GATES, OPEN.

"You're right, I should," I said, as horribly sweet as I possibly could. "Door's right there. See you!"

I motioned for a grinning Ryan, Heather and Katrina to follow me, and we walked swiftly away from the severely agitated Tara - well, at least Ryan looked amused. I'd be dealing with the repercussions of insulting that twat tomorrow. Great.

Ah, well. I couldn't hide the bitch in me forever. Now they knew.

"Sorry about that," I called back to them, pushing my way rather unsuccessfully through the crowd. "That's Tara, she's a bit of a bitchface."

"Tactfully put," Heather called. "I said my name was Heather, where'd she get Hannah?"

"Don't worry about it," I laughed. "She called me Claudia for two years - you should be flattered, she at least got the first letter in your name right."

The three of them laughed as we drifted back towards the far end of the building, towards the dining area. There were people everywhere, music blaring from every corner and dancing, screaming sluts farther than the eye could see. Fabulous. A sea of loud whores! Where was a harpoon when I needed it.

Luckily, the farther back we went in the building, the more dispersed the drunks and the more peaceful it became. Thank God - one more rap song and I think I would've killed someone. Once we were out of the crowds of people, the three of them had caught up and we'd all begun to chat. I had found Jess was right - Heather was not only the sweetest girl in the world, but she was _hilarious. _Katrina, who I'd definitely remembered meeting once or twice, was her usual bubbly self. Ryan, quiet but so strangely enticing, walked along silently beside Heather.

We came to a stop in the kitchen on the main floor - it was one of those utility kitchens, stainless steel everything. Just with a quick glance around, I could count at _least_ ten prep tables, four ovens, three refrigerators - countless pots and pans hanging everywhere. There were only a few people in here - by few, I mean eleven or twelve - but it was wonderfully, strangely, relaxing.

"There's a crapload of drinks in the fridge," I informed them, motioning to the fridge with my own drink. "You're welcome to all of them, if you guys drink, that is?"

"I don't, but Katrina here loves her booze," Heather said cheerfully.

"I swear, I'm not a drunk," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "Taddy, you're not coming to parties with me anymore. People always end up thinking I'm a closeted alcoholic."

I laughed. "I believe you, don't worry. Besides, at _these_ kind of parties, **everyone** looks like an alcoholic."

"That's what I like about 'em," Katrina said, looking around the room happily.

"Have you guys ever been to a sports kegger before?"

"Never," Heather said thoughtfully. "I think it's because we're paranormal investigators. Not exactly on the same 'cool' level as football or volleyball players."

Ryan and Katrina exchanged mortified grimaces, but I couldn't help laughing - this girl was absolutely _adorable_! I loved her bluntness. It reminded me so very fondly of my own dear Sophie - my own dear, drunk, totally-fuckin'-ditched-me Sophie. But no matter. Heather was hilarious, not drunk and still here. Fabulous!

"Paranormal investigating is definitely not the lowest spot on the totem pole," I assured them. "I think it's pretty cool, actually. Even if no one else does, I mean .. it's not like you're Chairmen for the '_Rebuilding the Death Star_' committee. **That** would likely warrant more bullying than your line of work."

They laughed, and I couldn't help but peek up at Ryan - that boy had a fantastically smooth, happy laugh. I wanted to sexually assault his chuckle. That's how fantastic it was. Is that wrong of me? Yeah .. whatever. I guess I'm a sucker for a man with a smoldering laugh. Ow _owwww_.

Heather opened her mouth to speak, but I saw Katrina's hand whip out and grab her arm excitedly - she was wide-eyed and beaming over at the far corner of the kitchen. Confused, Heather followed her gaze over to the opposite end of the room - and a **huge** smile strikingly similar to Katrina's crossed her face as well.

"David?" Katrina called, looking at a dark-skinned man near the back door. "David Sacranie?"

"Katrina Weidman! Jesus, I haven't seen you guys in forever!"

"Hi David!" squealed Heather excitedly. "It's me! Heather!"

"Taddy!" the man boomed. "For God's sake, it's like a high school reunion all over again!"

"Oh man," Heather beamed, as Katrina pulled her arm excitedly towards the David boy. "We'll be back in a bit, guys!"

I saw her give a subtle little wink to Ryan, as she and Katrina flew across the kitchen over to their long lost pal. What this little twitch meant, I had no idea - but it made my stomach flop uneasily.

Do you know what this meant, though? Do any of you realize what just happened?

Because before either **one** of us could really react and before either of us actually _realized_ it - Ryan and I were alone.

Completely. Indefinitely. Inexplicably, alone. Which, I don't know about him - but this was _perfectly_ fine with me.

I don't know if it was the Corona's getting the better of me, or if I finally actually grew a pair, but something inside let go - the knot in my stomach eased, my anxiety ceased and I felt altogether more comfortable. I blinked, and my vision fuzzed.

Ah hah! So it **was** the alcohol. Thank you, Captain Morgan shots. It's about time you kicked in - I was dyin' over here!

Feeling much more at ease, I leaned back against the counter and studied Ryan closely. His eyes were still turned towards the fleeing Katrina and Heather, and his brow was furrowed in the _slightest_. Which definitely was not a bad thing - he looked disgustingly handsome from this angle and from this level of buzzed-ness.

I smiled in spite of myself, biting my lip thoughtfully. God, did no one else realize how completely friggin' **gorgeous** this guy was? He had big, beautiful brown eyes and beautiful tanned skin - thick hair, great teeth, _perfect_ height. A bit on the thin side, but I could handle that. He looked back down at me and smiled. Hot, hot, **hot** damn. Someone's bones were going to be jumped.

"Do you know him too?" I asked casually, trying to act as if I was _not_ just staring stupidly at his ridiculously good-looking face.

Ryan shook his head and took a glance back over at the guy. "Naw .. probably someone from their Lit class. Or an ex-boyfriend or somethin'? Never seen him before."

"Ex-boyfriend?" I said slyly, with feigned interest. "That doesn't make you uncomfortable?"

He shook his head. "No, why would it?"

"Oh, I just thought you and Katrina were together, actually," I said simply. "That's all."

Ryan laughed. "No, those two are some of the best friends I've ever had - but definitely not girlfriends. I'm single."

Perfect.

I smiled. "Cheers to singledom! Oh shit, I'm such a terrible host - you want somethin' to drink?"

"You're a fantastic host," he reassured me, with a very shy but very adorable little glance down at his feet. "But yeah, sure I'll have one."

I fought a smile, and opened the fridge to my left. I rifled around through the half empty shelves. "There's a couple of two sixes of vodka in here, a bit of Coke, if you're willing to risk the potential date raped alcohol. Lets see ... well, I brought Corona's, I don't know if you like 'em ... there's some Labatt in here too and some Mike's Hard, in case you're not a beer type."

"Corona, please," he said, eyes brightening. "My favorite kind of drink."

"Mine too!" I said excitedly, waving my half empty bottle. "Seriously, does it get better than a Corona and lime?"

"I can't think of anything that would make life better," he said, with such sincere honesty I couldn't help but laugh.

Single **and** his favorite drink was Corona's. This night was _only_ getting better!

I grabbed a cold one from the fridge, and popped the top off on the scratched, warped counter of a nearby prep table. "No limes, bud, I'm sorry."

"This will suffice," he said glumly.

I giggled, and took a sip of my own drink. "I'm really glad you came, Ryan."

"I am too," he said, taking a small sip. "In complete honesty, this is my first sports kegger."

"That surprises me," I said, picking at the label on my bottle habitually. "You seem like the sporty type."

He laughed and shook his head. "I chase ghosts for a living, because they scare me less than catching a football does."

He and I both laughed, and continued to take our awkward little sips and quick little glances at one another. God, it felt like a cheesy high school movie.

I **loved** it.

"It's not for everyone," I said fairly, sliding up onto the counter. "I love volleyball, but if I had to sit through a game of football, I think I'd die of boredom."

"Really?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "You're not even a PSU fan?"

"I've tried!" I said earnestly. "I'm _always_ rootin' for them. But sitting through an **entire** game? Maybe if someone had me sedated."

He laughed again, that absolutely **fantastic** throaty chuckle. I swear, it was my new mission in life to make and hear this boy laugh - it warmed my _entire_ soul, I could _feel_ it.

"So you **must** be a football fan, then," I said, with a grin. "Do you go to all the games?"

"I try to," he said, nodding shyly. "My job keeps me away from the campus a lot though, and it's nothing I can really plan ahead of time."

"No kiddin," I said. "How often are you off on an investigation?"

"It varies," he said thoughtfully, running a finger absentmindedly against the bottle's neck. "Ever since - "

I nodded, trying harder than you can even imagine to listen to his story, but failing miserably. It wasn't my fault, though! - from the hallway came loud, angry banging and furious yelling. I took a quick glance around at the people lingering in the kitchen, but no one else seemed to care - no, care's not the right word. _Notice_, is more like it.

_Great_, I thought irritably. _It's nothing living that's making that noise._

"Imbeciles!" the grouchy, wavering old voice yelled. "I cleaned these floors, I cleaned them! Where's the fire alarm ... stupid brats, see who'll be laughing when the firefighters show up ... kick 'em all out. Send em to jail .. yeah, give'm what they deserve! INSOLENT, INSUFFERABLE SWINES!"

" - so it's about a bi-weekly occurrence now," Ryan finished, with a little sigh.

"You must be exhausted," I said sympathetically, the old man's piercing howls loud and angry in my ears.

"It's worth it," he said simply.

"PILES OF SHIT, DISGUSTING BRATS," the voice roared. "GONE, BUT I WON'T BE FORGOTTEN. We'll see who has the last laugh when the firefighters crash your little shin-dig. SLAMMER FOR **YOU** IGNORANT ASS, AND **YOU** SNOTTY BITCH, AND **YOU** - "

Fantastic. This son of a bitch was going to pull the fire alarm. Fucking great. Well, I didn't plan on waitin' for shit to hit the fan. I'm a deal-with-it-right-away kinda person.

"I know you're probably really sick of having to explain what you do a million and a half times, but I really _would_ love to hear more about PRS," I said softly, amidst the screaming and roaring in my ears. "Your friends have kinda disappeared, too ... do you uhm .. do you wanna come walk with me?"

In his own irritating way, this old ghost had completely turned things around in my favor: not only could I get out of this party (like I had so desperately been attempting to do ten minutes ago), but I could get out of here **with** Ryan.

"Sure," Ryan said, in a voice of horribly unsubtle forced calm (I loved it - his nervousness tugged at my heartstrings, _awwwe!_). "Yeah - I'd love to."

"Awesome," I said joyfully, sliding off the counter and taking his arm lightly in my hand. His body was warm and secure against my side. Slightly stiff, but I imagine any guy that's grabbed by some random girl gets a little stiff (I literally bit my tongue to keep from laughing at the potential of that fantastic _'that's what she said' _joke - God, what an absolutely **golden** one that would've been!).

I pulled him gently along beside me towards the back doors of the building, the faint smell of his body wash and a sharp, minty scent hazing up my brain. I sniffed, subtly as I could (go ahead, call me a creep - you can _honestly_ say you've never sniffed a really cute guy before?). Oh jeeze louise. I think he used old spice.

Ladies **love** Old Spice. Got that, men? Slather yourself in old spice and we will slather ourselves on you.

... Well. _**I**_ will, anyways.

"You're not supposed to be here or anything?" he asked me, with slight amusement in that smooth voice. "You don't have to do anymore press or keep an eye on your team, do you?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Definitely not. I'm not their babysitter, thank God. In fact, I'd rather _not_ be near any of them right now. Drink too much for their own good, the whole lot of them .. but **trust me** on this one, I don't think we're gonna wanna be in here much longer."

"I trust you," he said, so softly I could hardly hear him. Walking with his lean self right next to my own body, I could barely hide a smile -

what a cutie patutie he was, that Ryan Buell.

**(Ryan)**

So, let me bring you up to speed here.

Right now, at 11:30PM on this beautiful Wednesday evening, I am walking through the eastern state campus gardens with none other than Harlow Vincent. My crush, the apple of my eye, my obsession, my future wife. All true. Well. Except maybe not the last one. Ahem, **yet**.

Ten minutes ago, she'd found me in a crowd of people. Two hundred people, and she had found **me**. Chose **me **to talk to. A sea of people, mostly jocks and the popular students. And she had found good ol' nerdy ghost hunter, **me**. I know. I'm as confused as you are.

Eight minutes ago, she offered me a beer. Not just any beer, oh no. A Corona. This was my favorite beer. This, apparently, was **her** favorite beer. This was yet another reason (reason number 132 on my list, to be exact) why I knew she and I were meant to be together for forever and ever and ever. Why we were meant to knock some serious boots, enjoy some spectacular wedded bliss and then make some horrifically adorable babies. It was a sign from **God**, people. From _God_.

Somewhere in the house, we had lost Katrina and Heather (and if I knew them as well as I thought I did, than I'm _preeeeetty_ sure their "_random meeting_" with their "_old friend_" [I'm doing air quotes right now, FYI] was **not**, infact, so random after all). So they were gone, disappeared only moments after I began my conversation with this fantastically beautiful, darling girl. Now, I was terrifically, wonderfully and utterly alone with Harlow.

In a garden.

Alone.

At night.

_All_ alone.

Oh thank you, sweet Jesus.

We were **alone**.

"So the Paranormal Research Society," Harlow said thoughtfully, her slight frame bobbing happily along beside me as we walked through the beautiful park. "That's a pretty unique organization, huh?"

"Sadly," I said, nodding in agreement. "Such a fascinating, misunderstood topic."

She nodded. "You can say that again. I think it's just _wonderful_ what you do, Ryan."

I blushed, that horrific but all too familiar feeling of embarrassment rising up in my chest, up to my cheeks. "Thanks .. it's important to me, I just .. well, I just want to help people."

A small smile flickered across that beautiful face. "You know, some people just go the easy way and become doctors or somethin' when they wanna help people."

"Why spend eight years learning to cut up a heart when I could go record the voice of some entity that passed two hundred years ago," I said with a shrug. "Textbooks or EVP's - I know which I'd prefer."

She laughed, that wonderful, tinkling giggle that made my heart skip a beat. It really was a wonderful little sound - lemme put just how fantastic it was into perspective for ya'll: if that laugh had been a person, I would have made sweet sweet love to it. **That** is how fantastic it is.

"Well hey, it's probably a lot less gory," she said fairly. "You must really love it though, you've put in so much time and effort. How many students are in your class now? Last time I walked by, the classroom was nearly full!"

I nodded, trying to fight a smug grin. "Fifty people, now."

She looked over at me wondrously, with a small, perplexed smile. "Did you ever think it'd get that big?"

I shook my head, ignoring the terrible urge to throw in one of my '_that's what she said_' jokes. "Not in a million years. The television series doesn't hurt, though .. a lot of people seem more open to it now than two years ago. It's weird, I don't know why ..."

"It's probably because it's presented on a more global scale," she said thoughtfully, big eyes round and curiously insightful. "Mainstream media pushes something like PRS - ghost shows, paranormal series, stuff like that - people respond positively, and the topic that was once so forbidden and mysterious becomes less taboo. More generally accepted, y'know?"

I blinked and looked at her in surprise. "Yeah ... yeah, that sounds about right. You're one smart cookie, huh?"

She flushed, looking horribly awkward. An expression which on _her_, made my whole heart melt.

"Media fascinates me," she said simply, with an embarrassed little grin. "I **seriously** nerd out whenever I get to talk about it ... it's the psychology geek in me."

I laughed and shook my head. "It sounded more smart than nerdy, believe me."

"I'm glad you think so," she said cheerfully. "Now, ignoring my horribly embarrassing nerd attack and back to the sudden fluctuation of students in your class - you think they're all in it because they're interested in the paranormal?"

"Hm," I said with a frown, thinking hard. "I .. I don't know. Some of them I think have a very sincere interest in it. Some of them - well, some of them I'm well aware could not give a flying fuck about it. They just want to be on TV. But who am I to turn any willing student away?"

Harlow nodded sadly. "The pros and cons of fame, huh?"

I blushed (_sigh_ - yet again.) and she put a small hand gently on my arm, giggling - how I wish she knew that just made the redness worse. "Oh, I don't know, I would hardly call it fame ... it's gotten the word out though, that's for sure and we're helping more and more people all the time. It feels great. I think we're making a difference. Slowly but surely."

"I think it's just fantastic," she said softly, her feet now in sync with mine as we trudged up the hill. "It's great you've brought light to it, Ryan. It's definitely something that needs to be known and recognized and universally acknowledged. In my humble opinion, anyways. So many people have been affected by hauntings and possessions and the paranormal - an increasing number everyday. You're helping so many people overcome it, and come to terms with it. I swear, you're gonna turn all the non-believers into paranormal enthusiasts in no time."

I laughed, my hand accidentally brushing lightly against hers - I felt a **very** gnarly case of the willies comin' on. "Something tells me you're a bit of a believer as well?"

She didn't look at me, but as I turned to peek at her, I saw something deep in those shining mossy green eyes - a burning. I didn't know what it was, couldn't pinpoint it. But I saw the blaze beneath the stoney calm. It was subtle, so far beneath the surface, hidden from almost all prying eyes. But I had watched Harlow, studied her, lusted after her for far too long. The change was drastic for me. No longer bright and content, but hazy and fierce.

"Oh boy. You've got no idea," she said finally, her soft and cool voice making a liar of the intensity that raged so fiercely in those peepers. She glanced up at me, curious but with a small, friendly smile.

"I'd like to," I said quietly, trying to not shit bricks at the potential of having an **actual**, _meaningful_ conversation with Miss Vincent (you know, contrary to the '_me stuttering and falling and accidentally grabbing her bosom for support_' kind of exchange I originally thought I'd be doomed to have). "You don't have to tell me, though, if you don't want to. Your beliefs are your beliefs."

She stared at me speculatively. "What are yours?"

"Well," I said. "I believe they exist, and I believe in the paranormal."

She looked at me thoughtfully, long brown hair blowing softly behind her. "Why?"

"Well," I said slowly and carefully. "I believe in it because I had an experience when I was young. It stemmed from that, I suppose. When I was young, no one really believed me, believed that my experience was legitimate. By the time I hit my teens, I was intrigued with the whole concept of the paranormal. And I wanted answers."

She looked consciously ahead, stepping with easy grace along next to me. "So you started the Paranormal Research Society to get them? Answers, I mean. Get answers for the questions you had when you were young."

I nodded. "That was a big part of the reason, definitely."

"Tell me," she said softly. "Did you get them?"

The air grew still between us, as I pondered the question. Had I? The questions I had asked myself over and over again when I was growing up, the things I'd wondered and wished I had known. The unknown that I was desperate to figure out - had I found what I was looking for?

"I think that's more than just a yes or no question," I said finally. "I've found peace and I've found meaning. But as for the answers myself and every other person in this line of work are looking for, it's still a mystery. There are some questions I'll never have answered, and I know that."

"But you've found peace," she repeated with due consideration, eyes wandering up to my own. "With the hectic schedule you have and all of the responsibilities, you can honestly say you're at peace?"

"Within myself," I said confidently.

We came to a slow stop at the top of the hill, and I turned to look at her - she was staring me hard in the face, green eyes set and pensive. I saw it still, the fire burning in those emeralds, and I was entranced by it. They swallowed you whole, those eyes - they had no end. But as suddenly as it had appeared, the fire ceased and the bright pupils looked back up at me, satisfied.

"Are you at peace?" I said rather stupidly, trying desperately to find a topic - I think I was going cross-eyed from staring at her.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at me inquisitively. "What do you mean?"

I blinked, and tried to clear my murky, dreamy mind. "I mean ... I had so many questions when I was young and I was so restless and agitated about everything ... but I found a place and a time in my life when things made sense, and I came to peace with it all. I don't know much about your family and your childhood or even your current situation, really, but everyone in the world is searching for the same kind of thing. Have you found what you're looking for? Meaning, direction .. peace?"

She bit her lip, and looked worriedly out over the flowery gardens.

She looked so pretty there, and I could feel my heart flutter. Her hair blew so softly, so subtly in the breeze, and I could still get a whiff of that vanilla bean perfume. Her eyes were round as saucers, bright as the sun and serious as I'd ever seen them. I could feel my hand rise slowly, awkwardly, but then fall back to my side - I was _not_ going to ruin this moment by accidentally fondling her boobie.

"Peace," she said, very softly. "I don't think I even know what that is."

"You've never felt at peace?" I asked incredulously. "Not even for a minute?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. She turned and looked at me serenely and smiled a very sad, very shy smile. "My life has been anything but."

"You seem very focused," I said, disbelieving. "Good direction, a pretty happy existence. On the outside, anyways, that's what I always thought. You always seem so content, satisfied with life, y'know? You look at ease."

She laughed quietly, an indefinite bitterness in it. "Well that's the idea."

There was a silence between us for a moment, as I watched an overwhelming sadness pass through her face. It was there for only a split second, but I saw it and I think she knew I did too. She turned her head slightly, away from me and towards the forest.

"So you're not, really?" I asked.

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I think ... I think I'm slowly figuring it out. The whole peace thing, y'know?"

"It seems so perfect," I said, the words coming out before I really thought them through - before I could stop them. "You do, I mean. Your life, it seems .. _ideal_."

She looked at me, brow furrowed. Not angrily, I didn't sense any irritation - all I could see was thoughtfulness in her expression. Slight surprise. A little _pinch_ of relief.

"Really?" she said, softly. "That's what you see when you look at me?"

"I think it's what everyone sees," I said, slowly and hesitantly but honestly - this whole word vomit thing was **really** going to end up biting me in the ass.

She blinked, and a small smile appeared faintly on her lips. "Good. That's good. I like that."

"But it's not true, is it," I said softly, searching that face intently. "It - life - your life. It's not perfect. It looks it, but it's not ..."

"It's nowhere near," she agreed quietly. "But it is what it is."

"Does it bother you?" I asked her. "People having that picture of you, that idea ... I'm sorry if I offended you at all."

"No, no, you didn't offend me," she said simply, resting a hand lightly on my arm. "The way I see it ... is if people look at me and think I've got it all, well that's alright with me. I'd rather them see that than the person I feel like I look like most of the time. Sometimes it's better that way. Nobody is perfect, and if you see a person who looks it, they're probably more flawed than anyone else. Nobody wants to be perfect."

"But that's what so many of us strive for," I said, more thinking outloud than really asking a question. "Perfection."

"And it's a tragic waste of an all too short life," she said quietly. "The fact is, being somebody doesn't make you anybody anyways. This is life, not heaven. You don't have to be perfect, and no one really is. Not even me. _Especially_ not me."

I looked at her, and she looked back, the two of us alone under the moonlight. For the first time in all the years I'd been near Harlow, I wasn't nervous. I didn't feel my dinner creeping back up my throat. Didn't feel my mind swelling and my heart thudding. I saw her for once, as a very beautiful, very misunderstood, very brilliant - albeit, a very _flawed_ - woman.

"I saw you everyday for the past four years," I said, my mouth moving without any assistance from my brain - yet again. "And everyday, I thought how wonderful you were. How you had everything going for you. How any guy on campus - in the _world, _really - would be lucky to be with you. Be near you. Be anything to you. I saw everything they saw, maybe even more - you were **perfection**, in the form of one girl."

"Tell me - do you still see that?" she asked quietly.

"I see the outside as perfection - I still do," I said slowly, this time my brain forbidding my mouth to work without it's help. "And you can try all you'd like, I'll always see you like that. As for the inside ... I see you as a person I would like to get to know. Much better than I do now."

"Do you think you can help me?" she asked evenly. "You think you can try and understand the complete disaster zone that is my mind?"

I smiled. "I can try to understand."

She looked at me intensely, eyes boring holes into my skin. "There's not much to understand here. I'm simple enough. Not perfect, regardless of what you might see. I'm flawed."

"Everyone is."

"I'm damaged."

"There's damage in all of us."

"But I'm not broken."

"I see nothing to fix."

The corners of her mouth twitched, and a moment later a bright smile broke across her face. "I like you, Ryan Buell. I like you a lot."

I opened and closed my mouth three or four times, completely speechless - I imagine I looked like a fish that got stuck on land or somethin'. She laughed, loudly and happily, and put a hand on my leg.

"You know, I don't think anyone in the world can slide from topic to topic like we do," she said cheerfully, patting my hip. "But I'm glad we did."

I opened my mouth to speak (or perhaps puke all over her, I could've shit myself in excitement at that point), when a long, loud wailing came from far behind us. The science building seemed perfectly fine, in good condition, but inside the roaring of the alarm continued.

"Fire alarm," I stuttered, barely getting the words out. "Oh Jesus, you don't think - "

"No," she said simply, without even a glance back at the building. "It's fine. Someone probably just pulled it."

I looked at her, and she looked back at me, face bright and mischievous.

"Do you know who pulled it?" I asked. "It's like you knew it was gonna happen - before, when you said we should get out of there."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Lucky guess, I suppose."

For some bizarre reason, there was a part of me - a rather big one - that didn't actually believe her. But before I could even call her on it, she turned on her heel and motioned to the science center with her head.

"We should head back," she said, hair blowing softly behind her. "See if Heather and Katrina are alright - just in case."

I nodded. "That's a good idea."

We walked in silence down the steep hill and began to walk back through the gardens. I could hear her light breathing next to me, and feel her warmth. I took a side glance at her and saw to some degree of astonishment, a cheerful little smile on her tanned face. She caught me looking, but only laughed as I blushed.

"C'mon, bud, don't worry," she said, eyes sparkling. "I don't bite."

And just as the awesome mental image of Harlow friggin' Vincent biting me popped into my obscenely dirty mind, I felt a light squeeze on the palm of my hand and felt her thin, small fingers intertwine with my own.

Oh my stars, there really **was** a God.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE:**

*cowers behind computer desk* Hi guys! Don't hate me, I know the update took about 28472935 years (give or a take a few), but the truth is (no really, it's the honest truth!):

I. HAD. SWINE FLU.

Yup. H1N1. Dear ol' Ella was hit with the piggy cold. Did it suck? Yes, hard. Did I think I was going to die? Oh absolutely. DID I DIE? No freakin' way! I couldn't do that to you guys. So I present to you, chapter four! The chapter I am not all that thrilled with but in all honesty, I was terrified to edit into the weekend in fear of Surri's wrath. ANYWAYS. I've got some serious thank you's to get around to!

SurriB, ashleymaria, kcollins, Snape's Gurl and voll3yg1rl - WOWZAS, I AM IN LOVE WITH ALL OF YOU! Two new reviewers, fabulous! And my three long timers, EVEN BETTA!! You guys have actually made my week. Reviews give me a bigger boost than steroids do to a weightlifter, or cocaine does to a disco dancer. WOO WOOO.

ashleymaria, i adore you more and YOU WILL HAVE TO WAIT AND SEE.  
kcollins, well YOU are quickly turning into one of MY favorites. so HAH.  
snape's gurl, you're on to something! love that keen and insightful brain of yours!  
voll3y, i am DIGGIN' your name! i write about volleyball and you ARE volleyball. love it love it!

AND SURRIB. This chapter is dedicated to you. For without your threats, and angry message, I think this chapter would still be half finished sittin' on my computer.

ANYWAYS, again, really you guys I love your reviews and I appreciate them more than you will ever know. They are fabulous! Hope you enjoyed this very freakin' long chapter. I am off to collapse in a swiney pile of exhaustion on the bathroom floor. UNTIL NEXT TIME.

**LOVE: **Ellah!


	6. He Has Been Pummeled By The Dumb Stick

**Chapter Five**

He Has Been Pummeled By The Stick of Dumb

**(Ryan)**

"Favorite color?"

"Uhm .. yellow."

"Favorite season?"

"Autumn!"

"Hm ... favorite animal?"

"Sloths."

"Sloths?"

"Sloths."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"A sloth?"

"Oh yeah!"

True story, guys. It is very very **very** hard to _laugh/stare adoringly/__not__ stammer your way through every sentence _**all** at the same time. The last one was proving to be hard enough, nevermind the first two. Try doing all of these in the presence of an absolutely, undeniably and **insanely** beautiful girl and I _guaran-freakin'-tee_ you, you'll have just as hard of a time as I was.

Harlow and I were dragging ourselves as slowly as we could back to the main campus, walking close and talking fast. Her slight frame bobbed happily along beside me, bare arm rubbing every now and then on my own and that soft and smooth skin emitting it's sweetly prominent coconutty/vanilla scent. Hundreds of feet ahead of us, people were ambling drunkenly out of the wailing science building and in the distance, fire engines roared closer and closer towards us.

Of course, I'm just assuming that's what was goin' on - at that moment in time, I was deaf to everything. All I could hear was Harlow's tinkling laugh. She was beaming up at me, those perfect teeth shining and eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Man, since _when_ can good oral hygiene and sparkly eyeballs give you a boner? Since _now_, apparently. Christ.

"What's so bad about a sloth?" she asked me, fingers still loosely intertwined with my own (oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah. She was **still** holdin' on to my hand. With _HER_ hand. Hand on hand contact, folks. Gettin' a l_iiii_ttle PG in here, ow _oww_!).

"Nothin'," I said attempting to feign nonchalance but failing miserably. "I just don't think I ever would've guessed a sloth was your favorite animal, that's all."

She giggled. "Well, element of surprise! Honestly, I don't understand why no one else likes 'em. They're quite beautiful, majestic creatures, y'know."

"Don't they sleep and eat all day and poo like once a week?"

"Well alright. Perhaps majestic isn't _quite_ the right word I'm lookin' for," she laughed, her beautifully slender nose scrunching in amusement - oh _God_ that was cute. "But I love them - they always look like they're happy and smilin'. I wish I was like that, all slothy and adorable."

"Luckily, you're much cuter than a sloth," I assured her, my hip brushing against hers softly (total accident, I swear to you - but you **see** how freakin' close we were! Hip to Hip, people, HIP TO HIPPPPP). "Not to mention you're about a million times more interesting than a sloth."

She grinned and gave my hand a light squeeze which I felt right down through to my bones. "So, since sloths are apparently so_ boring_ and _repulsive_, tell me what _your_ favorite animal is."

"Nittany lion," I said automatically.

She laughed, baring those immaculate chompers. If her teeth were people, I'd hard hump them. Hard. Is that bad? Nevermind - don't answer that. "How on **Earth** is a freakin' mountain lion better than a sloth? Tell me that, Ryan."

"I could make an entire _list_ of reasons why lions trump sloths," I said with a smile. "One, king of the jungle!"

"**African lions** are king of the jungle - mountain lions are like the dweeby younger brother of the African lion," she argued. "They're like ... like the creepy second cousin your family always invites over for Thanksgiving dinner even though they don't belong there. They are tag-along, follower lions. They are wannabe's."

Smart, beautiful, **and** she had a fantastic sense of humor. God, if this isn't my future wife, just strike me down now.

"Fair enough," I laughed. "But regardless of it's status on the lion hierarchy - _no one_ messes around with a lion."

"No one messes around with a sloth, either," she countered, looking cheekily over at me.

I laughed, and shook my head. "That's because no one cares enough to mess with a sloth."

"No," she said stubbornly, her eyes glittering mischievously. "It's because they're - "

"HARLOWWWWW!"

" - Ah shit," Harlow muttered, eyes darkening as she cast a bleak look ahead of us.

About fifty feet away, the pin thin but pretty blonde girl on the volleyball team staggered towards us, feet shuffling and head bobbing about dangerously. It was Sophie, the drunken and ice cold best friend of this fantastically sweet girl right next to me. She stumbled, caught herself, and shuffled on towards us looking an awful lot like a newborn baby calf. Unsteady and unpracticed.

"And so ends my evening," Harlow sighed, relinquishing her grasp on my hand - it broke my heart a little, I'm not going to lie. Okay, maybe not a little. A lot. A lot a lot. A lot a fuckin' lot **lot**.

"Fuh - keen - SHAT, Harlow," Sophie slurred loudly, staggering forward again - Harlow was already moving quickly and purposefully towards her. "I am so fuh-keen drunk, I think I am going to exploder sum thin."

"Christ, Sophie," Harlow mumbled, steadying the thin girl with an arm. "How much did you drink?"

"If I remembered that I would remember that I drank that much!"

"That answers my question."

I laughed without really being able to help myself and moved slowly and cautiously towards the two girls, afraid of disrupting anything. You know girls .. sometimes they're weird about this kind of thing. Everything in my mind screamed at me to give them space, but everything in my heart and a little bit of my wiener as well told me to stay close (I know, I'm a creep, shut up and don't rub it in). Anyways! I moved closer to the pair, seeing them both plainly in the lamplight for the first time in my life.

From far away, the two of them had always looked like sisters - same height, same thin frame, same long hair. Up close, the differences between the two were staggering. Sophie, tall and willowy and thin with golden blonde, pin straight hair. Harlow, tall and slim but muscular with chocolate brown, wavy hair. Sophie, face nearly gaunt with thinness and pale, Harlow's sharp but full and tanned. Almond shaped, angry blue eyes to the blonde, and round, overbright green ones on the brunette.

Eye to eye, they stood at the same height. Pound for pound, they were nearly identical. But the outward similarities ended there - on each girl, every characteristic was different, every prominent feature on one, more beautiful and conspicuous on the other. An angry personality trait on one translated to a soft, kinder quality in the other - wildly different, but I (as many other people I'm sure) had noticed, that they complimented each other rather flawlessly.

As I stared stupidly at the pair of beauties, I found myself suddenly being scrutinized by two sets of eyes that were now locked onto my face - the kind but fathomless emerald ones and the fierce and calculating sapphire ones. My face flared in embarrassment - oh well. At least I wasn't visually boob assaulting them. Not that Sophie really would have noticed ...

"Sorry, Ryan," Harlow said softly, propping Sophie up awkwardly against her side. God, maybe if I were that plastered she'd hold _me_ up too.

Oh God, shut up mind shut **up**.

"It's okay, really," I affirmed. "Really. Do you need any help?"

"Ghost boy?" Sophie slurred from the crook of Harlow's neck.

I smiled and nodded - it's how most people around here knew me, to be honest. "Ghost boy, yep."

"Sophie, shut up," snapped Harlow, and I noticed with astonishment (and a little _oomph_ of excitement) that she was blushing _quite_ profusely. "I'm _sorry_ .. she's kind of drunk."

"Hardly," I joked, literally only a moment before Sophie hurled all over the dark pavement in front of her.

"Fantastic, fucking fantastic, Soph," groaned Harlow, dragging herself and Sophie away from the mess. "Why am I not surprised."

"I didn't fuckin' eat that," she garbled, staring intensely down at the slime that was puddled at her feet.

"Oh, what a prize you are," Harlow muttered, wrapping an arm around her waist and grabbing Sophie's thin wrist in her hand. I couldn't help the terrible bursts of laughter escaping my mouth. "C'mon, let's go. We have to get you home and in bed."

"Whattaya think I need a bed for?" she sputtered.

"To sleep off the horrendous hangover that is _clearly _imminent," sighed Harlow. "Ryan, can you grab her other arm?"

I nodded and sped over to the pair. I'm not even kidding when I say that Sophie was a **complete** dead weight - she gave us no support, just kind of hung there in a terrifically drunken stupor. I lifted her thin, bony arm gently around my shoulder, and blushed in embarrassment as her head lolled over onto my chest.

"Nice man chest," she slurred happily, patting my man boob roughly. "Nice nice."

"I'm sorry, I'm really really **really** sorry," muttered Harlow, jabbing Sophie roughly with her elbow. "Stop that, Sophie. God, you're even a whore when you're drunk. I apologize on her behalf."

I laughed, propping Sophie up best and safely as I could. "Really, Harlow, it's okay. It's fine."

She glanced over and met my own gaze and smiled, a genuinely thankful and content grin. A look that melted every square inch of my heart, oh my _goodness_. "You're wonderful, Ryan. You know that?"

What a surprise, I blushed. Luckily, we were attempting to drag Sophie across the pavement so Harlow barely had any time to notice my flustered pinkish hue (thank **God**). Sophie's feet shuffled uselessly behind her, but I was surprised with Harlow's quick movement and natural, easy fluidity. Even while a drunk was flung across her shoulder, she moved with the grace of a deer. God, what I'd do to see her use that form in the sack.

"My car's just over there," she said, motioning with her head to the parking lot about thirty feet away. "It's that ugly silver one, the Prius."

"I'm goin' teh puke all in your car, Lo," Sophie mumbled. "Juss wanna 'pologize in advanceded."

"You puke in my car you clean my car," Harlow said irritably. "Or just buy me a new one - God only knows the devastation you're bound to create on the fifteen minute ride home."

I laughed at her irritation, and tightened my hold on Sophie who was slipping quickly from my grasps. "Oh, jeeze - "

"It's okay if you drop her," Harlow said benignly, pulling her keys out of her pocket with fantastic finesse. "Maybe it'll knock her out and I don't have to deal with this - "

"BLUHHHHHH!"

" - all the way home," Harlow sighed, narrowly avoiding the projectile vomit.

"Shit son," moaned Sophie, as I pulled her up closer against my side. Maybe it was just my imagination (or perhaps my raunchy dreams?), but I swear I saw a flicker of jealousy move across that flawless face of Harlow.

I know, I know. Just me being a lewd, overly-optimistic creeper again.

We came to an unsteady stop in front of her car, and while still holding on tightly to Sophie's waist, Harlow managed to unlock the front driver's side door, fling Sophie's coat into the back and insert the key into the ignition.

"Multi-tasking at it's best," I said, impressed.

She grinned at me, and pulled Sophie gently out of my grasp. "You learn to deal with this shit an awful lot - I've gotten good at the whole 'drunk juggling', as I call it."

She yanked the back door open and pushed Sophie's head down with her hand. She carefully maneuvered Sophie over to her right side, ducked her head, and pushed her into the back seat with impressive and skillful ease. Sophie collapsed over onto her side, eyes shut and breathing heavy. From the car, that soft, subtle scent of coconut wafted out and filled my mind with hazy goodness. Oh, coconuts would never be the same again.

"I don't see why I even bother working out," Harlow said to me mildly, pulling the seat belt proficiently over Sophie's thin chest. "I do this with at least one of the volleyball girls weekly - I'm ripped from carrying drunks."

I laughed, and tried (but failed miserably, might I add) to not look longingly at her ass. Hey! I couldn't help it. While she was busy buckling her drunken best friend into the back of her car, her ass was waving at me in the cutest, most bum-tastic way I'd ever seen. It took every ounce of strength inside of me to not reach out and honk that beauty.

"You're good to do it," I said earnestly (I'm so glad she didn't notice that I was having a serious staring contest with her arse). "Not a lot of people would put up with weekly piss-drunks."

She pulled herself out of the backseat and slammed the door, turning to face me with a bright smile etched on that flawless face. My God, I wanted to stare at that face forever and ever. "I don't mind. I think my car does, but I don't."

We both laughed, and the air around us grew strangely silent and awkward. Awkward for the first time all night, might I add - this was a **huge** step-up from where I thought the night would end. For one, I was _still_ talking to her. I hadn't burst into unsuppressed tears and run to hide in an abandoned hallway. Huzzah, I had managed to grow a pair!

"Well," Harlow said after a moment, looking timidly up at me. "Thanks for the help."

"Oh, it was no problem," I said bashfully. "Thanks for .. thanks for the Corona."

She smiled. "I'll share my Corona's with you anytime."

"Thanks for the talk, too," I said, rather ineptly (I was busy secretly wishing she'd share more than just a beer with me - oh what a surprise, I was being obscenely filthy minded again, fabulous). "It was .. it was really nice."

"You're a very interesting guy," she said softly.

"And you're a **very** interesting girl," I said, shifting nervously - God, I was a tool. "I feel badly, though, we only talked about me all night."

"Oh, I don't mind," she said easily, with such natural assurance (so natural, people _wish_ they'd been blessed with it). "I liked hearing about you."

"I'd like to hear more about you, next time," I said, my heart racing and my awkwardness becoming more and more prevalent - oh fuckity fuck! "I know we only just met, but .. would you wanna go and grab coffee or something? Whenever you're free, you know - it doesn't matter when to me, whenever you can, or if you want to, if you don't it's like .. it's not a big deal, I was just wondering, you know, and I - "

"I'd love to," she cut in, thankfully cutting my horrific and embarrassing stuttering session short. She smiled, and ran a hand nervously over her arm. "I'd absolutely **love** to."

"Good," I said, and hard as I tried, I just could not keep the excitement out of my voice. "Good. Great, actually, great ... uhm, are you busy on Friday?"

She frowned and looked at me thoughtfully. "Well, I'm leaving in the afternoon - I'm going to Sophie's parents, more for moral support than anything. They're a bunch of pompous, rich assholes but they like me and buy me food. I'll be gone all weekend, but I'm back on Monday?"

"Monday works for me," I said, without actually thinking - dude, to be frank, I could have been best man at a wedding on Monday and I still would completely, **totally** have blown it off for _this_. "Monday works fantastically."

"Great," she said happily. "I've got class until 4:00 and then volleyball from 5:00 to 6:30 - but anytime after that would work for me?"

"I've got the PRS class at 6:00 and it's done at 8:00 - you wanna say 8:15?" I asked.

"Perfect," she said. "I'll meet you in the class at 8:15?"

"Perfect," I said. "That's .. perfect."

"Good," she said brightly, running a hand through that thick hair. "Well, I've got to drive drunk-o home before she completely trashes my car."

"That's a good idea," I agreed. "I don't know if your car will forgive you if it happens again."

She laughed, and yanked the drivers side door open. She turned to me, and before I had time to react (which was probably a good thing, since my reaction likely would have been to shit everywhere, curl into a ball and cry), she rested a small, delicate hand on my arm, perched up on her tippy toes, and planted a soft, sweet little kiss on my burning cheek.

"Thanks again, Ryan," she said quietly, her eyes glittering. "For everything."

With one last jovial little smile, she slipped gracefully into her car, started it up, and drove away quickly into the dark, moonlit night. I stared as she drove off, face burning and mind exploding - had that **actually** just happened?

I raised a hand to my cheek, and felt the hot, slightly lip glossy spot on my cheek.

"Sweet mother Mary," I whispered. "I have died and gone to heaven."

**(Harlow)**

"You're home early."

I sighed, and dropped my car keys into the small, bronze dish. "Fire alarm was pulled, Sophie was so drunk she couldn't move and I have to finish my outline for cognitive coaching."

"What a fascinating life you lead."

I smiled, scratching the back of my leg lightly. "Yeah, well - better a dull one then none."

"Touché."

"How are you?" I asked, peeling my shoes off my aching feet.

"Same old, same old."

"Course," I said. "You do anything fun this evening?"

"The hell is there fun to do around here?"

I shrugged. "Find something."

"Oh, suck a big one."

I laughed, and dragged my buzzed and tired ass down the hallway and into the large, spacious living room. Seated on the couch was a girl about my age, a little bit shorter, with long and bluntly cut dirty blonde hair. She gazed over at me, eyes vacant and bored. She looked me up and down, and her eyes narrowed inquisitively.

"How'd the game go?" she asked.

"Good," I replied, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch and grabbing the remote. "We won. No surprise."

"So modest," she sneered. "Final score?"

"13 to 12."

"Impressive."

"Oh, shut up."

I clicked the remote wearily, propping my feet up against the coffee table.

"I was watching that."

"No you weren't."

"Was so."

"Chick, please. You don't even know how to turn a television **on**."

"Do too."

"Don't."

"Do too."

"Don't."

"Don't you have an essay to go write, Ass?"

"Later," I muttered.

After driving the short five minute drive to Sophie's apartment and dragging her up five flights of stairs (her family was worth millions, but she lived in the shittiest, most decrepit and ugly old apartment building ever), I finally loaded myself back into the car and drove the ten minute trek home. The majority of people on campus assumed that Soph and I lived together - the fact is, if I had to room with her for _any_ amount of time **ever, **I think it would be the end of our friendship. I loved her dearly, and she loved me right back - but we were polar opposites. She was a slob, I was not. She slept until three in the afternoon, I was up by eight every single day. She had dishes in her sink from two weeks ago - I barely even _kept_ dishes that were two weeks old. Our varying lifestyles would've killed the relationship, I think.

Unlike Sophie's small, cramped and messy apartment, mine was large, spacious and compulsively tidy. Located about ten minutes off of campus, I had bought the place four years ago - only one month after my 20th birthday. I had traveled all over this great country, but ultimately, I chose to settle in Pennsylvania. At the time, it was the only state I had never lived in before, or even traveled through. I needed a fresh start, and I had found a fantastic location where I could make one. My apartment was one of four on the seventh floor of the building. It was very big, bigger than I probably needed, but I had found the rent extremely reasonable and the location was quiet and tranquil - just what I needed after 20 years of complete pandemonium. The minute I had stepped inside, I had fallen in love with it.

Of course, had I known the baggage that came along with it, I'm sure I would've thought twice. But, that's another story for another time.

My living room was my favorite room in the entire place - and it was the most popular amongst my small group of friends as well. It was big and open, several hallways leading away from it, but it was cozy. There were couches, big and puffy and soft and littered with pillows of every shape and size. It was the only thing in the entire house I'd really splurged on, to be honest - growing up, I'd never really had much of a living room, so I wanted the comfiest, coziest and most fantastic living room furniture money could buy. Everything else? Cheap, free or stolen. The coffee table I'd picked up at a local thrift store for five bucks, the television (an old one of Sophie's), the fakest looking jumbo bonsai tree you'd ever seen in your entire life (taken out of a local dumpster - hey, they _clearly_ didn't want it anymore) and four bright, cheerfully colorful but oddly mismatched lamps. Sophie thought it was all junk - I thought it was treasure. Sophie thought the place was too bare, too disharmonized. I thought it was comfortable and quirky.

The north wall of the living area was nothing but windows looking out onto the busy, crowded but fantastically welcoming University Park. The other three surrounding walls of the living room weren't even visible - every inch had been covered with tall, thin bookshelves (that I had made myself from a kit I got from K-Mart - HUZZAH TO DOMESTIC, HANDY HARLOW, HUZZAH.). There was every kind of book you could imagine nestled deep in those shelves - everything from Jane Austen, Shakespeare and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, to Harry Potter, the Goosebumps series and the Animorphs, to Anne Rice, Stephen King and Tolkien. There were comic books, textbooks on Freudian psychology, the Bible, books on Marxism. Storybooks, Fairytales - big 'How-To' guides on every different topic, the diaries of everyone from Anne Frank to Bridget Jones and hundreds of biographies, ranging from the uplifting, fantastic life story of Nelson Mandella to the sickeningly fascinating one of Adolf Hitler. There were books of poetry by Maya Angelou, Emily Dickinson and Shel Silverstein, and thick, never been used dictionary's and thesaurus'. There was everything you could imagine - **everything**.

A lot of people - well, to be frank, _most_ people - don't believe me when I say I'm a nerdy, hermity little book worm.

But I'm not kiddin' - I literally curl into a ball six out of seven days a week and read until I go cross-eyed. It's a brilliantly wonderful and horribly presupposed thing, literature. Books have been the only constant my whole life. I had learned over the past 24 years to appreciate them and hold them closer to my heart than most hold their greatest friends.

Anyways, enough gloating about my apartment and book selections - I get a l_iiiii_ttle carried away sometimes, you'll have to excuse me. Back to the present situation! The plain but somewhat complacent young woman sitting next to me on the couch (who I referred affectionately to as Chick) was **not,** in fact, my room mate. She did not pay me monthly rent, but she did not sleep or eat or bathe here either - just simply roamed the halls, everyday, all day. For all the rest of eternity. I had never met her before I moved in, never seen her or heard of her. She sort of ... came _with_ the apartment.

This was the baggage I was talking about. But it was baggage I truly didn't mind holding on to.

"You know, when I was alive, we didn't procrastinate like you do," she said slyly, stretching her feet out comfortably in front of her.

"You were born in the 60's, grew up in the 70's," I sighed. "All you ever did was get stoned - I find it hard to believe you never procrastinated."

"Caught red handed," she grinned. "Either way, get started on that essay or you're going to pay for it."

"I know I know. I'm gettin' on it, I swear."

"That's what you say all the time, yet every time you have an essay due I find you three hours before the deadline going googley-eyed on that stupid computer."

"You're always right, I'm always wrong, I get it, I get it."

She laughed, and moved swiftly and noiselessly from the couch over to the short and stubby hallway leading to my cute, obsessively tidy kitchen. I swear, it was not my cleaning OCD that was behind my spotless kitchen - it was my poor cooking skills and extreme anxieties at attempting anything besides bowls of cereal that was the real culprit here.

"Did you eat yet?" she asked me, swaying back and forth with inhuman grace and silence.

"No," I said, flicking the channels dully. "I'm not hungry."

The comment was met by silence, and I peered over my shoulder at the doorframe. Chick was looking at me quizzically, eyes narrowed and mouth turned down. Her sad, empty eyes bore holes right through me.

"There's some pasta in the fridge," she said slowly. "Pesto. Your favorite."

I shook my head. "I might heat it up later, but I'm not too hungry right now."

She clicked her tongue irritably - Chick refused to believe anyone when they said that they weren't hungry. For the final years of her life, she lived in a state of constant stupefaction. Chick was such a stoner, the details of her own freakin' death are a little bit hazy. She no longer has the need or ability to eat, so she eats vicariously through me, I suppose.

"What, you drunk or something?" she asked, taken aback.

"No, I'm not drunk. I had one beer and like .. two shots of rum. If I were drunk, that would be pretty pathetic."

"You high?"

"No, Chick. I don't smoke."

"I know, your loss."

I laughed as she drifted slowly back over to me, frowning in consideration. I stared back, impassively as I could - it doesn't matter how long you've been able to see spirits, it's always a little bit of a surprise when they do the 'Hover', as I call it.

The 'Hover' is just one of the terms I throw around loosely in the presence of a spirit. Let me explain what it is. The majority of humans that come in contact with spirits always see the 'Hover'. It's the graceful, floating, silent and apparently non-moving walk a lot of spirits do absentmindedly - you can see their legs moving and them getting closer, but there's no sound, no real obvious signs of movement and an airiness that's nothing less than alarming. Simply put, it looks like a silent, drifting mass moving towards you. _Hovering_, if you will. After much consideration, I figured that that's why most living people who see spirits are terrified - besides the whole unknown, dead person you can see thing, it's the Hover that truly scares them shitless.

The vast majority of spirits don't even realize they're doing it - it's an accidental thing that happens once every couple of years to most of them. Some spirits, the mean ones that actually _enjoy_ frightening the living, do it as often as they can. I asked Chick about it once, and she told me it only happens when they lose themselves in thought - when they're wandering, thinking, dreaming, wishing. Completely immersed in their own forever, sometimes they slip back into the realm of the living, if only for a moment. Like a fuzzy picture on an old television screen, completely unaware of their surroundings, themselves - they're simply going through the movements.

When they forget, when they slip back into our world, that's when we see the 'Hover'. And that's when we truly feel terrified. Hover is just a term I use, it's not a Parapsychological term or an actual definition used in the ghost hunting business. It's what I've simply noticed from my many many years of paranormal gazin'.

Ah, shit. I digress.

Chick hovered closer and closer, slower and slower, until she was mere feet away from me. I glared at her, and she glared back. I hated when she did this. Although she'd sworn she couldn't do it a million times over, sometimes I still thought she could read my mind.

"You're all ... shiny," she said, a tinge of disgust in that flat voice.

"How embarrassing," I said loftily. "I forgot to blot."

"No, Ass, it's nothing to do with greasy face or sweat or any of that," she said, looking contemplatively at me. "It's like a ... glow."

"Oh God, maybe I'm pregnant," I said, averting my eyes away from her and returning to my dull channel clicking.

I felt a cold rush, like a sudden gust of freezing air that hit right down to my bones, and I saw Chick turn around in front me. Opaque and distinct as she'd ever been. I shivered.

"F-f-fuck," I muttered. "How many times have I told you not to do that!"

"Sorry," she said, rather unapologetically. "But what's up with you? You look all ... all ... shmeh."

"Shmeh?" I asked, offended. "Well, don't I just feel beautiful."

She glared at me, harder still, eyes boring into my face. "Did you get laid?"

"No," I said blandly. "Leave me alone, Chick."

"Fat chance," she murmured. "Did you make out with someone?"

"No," I repeated, trying to look around her figure irritably. "Please, move your ass out of my way, I can't see the TV."

But finally - for some reason I still to this day can't explain - her face broke into a wide, brilliant smile - she squealed delightedly, jumped and landed down onto the sofa next to me, noiselessly and with the grace of a puma. Man, I wish I could be that elegant without having to be that dead.

"Who's the guy!"

"Oh frick."

"Tell me, Harlow! Who's the guy! Is he cute? Is he nice? Is he young? Where'd you meet him? Details, Harlow. DETAILS."

I buried my face in my hands and shook my head wildly. "You're not getting anything out of me."

"Who the fuck am I gonna tell?" she asked indignantly. "Who the hell is there to tell?"

I peered through my fingers at her. "It's not that."

"I've been dead for thirty two **fucking** years! I need some excitement, I need to gossip! GIVE ME DETAILS, HARLOWWWWW."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said weakly. "I'm going to jinx it."

"Let me just remind you, that I am a ghost. You might as well just be talking to yourself, because no one else can hear me, see me or communicate with me - you're not jinxing anything, numbnut," she said, her voice dripping with excitement. "C'MON, HARLOW. TELL ME TELL ME **TELL ME**."

"Okay, okay!" I caved, trying but failing miserably to hide a smile. "His name is Ryan."

With all the commotion of Sophie's serious drunkenness, I had almost forgotten about the truly wonderful highlight of my night - _almost_ being the operative word there. I had willed myself to not think about it, because then I'd overthink or underthink or stress or worry or start to panic or .. or, whatever. Sometimes, thinking is **not** what you want to do. And in the case of relationships and unexplainable crushes and dirty, some what obscene fantasies about a boy I didn't really know - well, the less thinking the better, don't you agree?

But I didn't kid myself - deep down, I knew there was no hiding this. Not from myself. Not from Sophie. Not from anyone. No less God damn Chick here. I could have all the peace and soundlessness I ever wanted on the drive home, all the tranquility and isolation I needed to forget and compose myself - but the minute I got home and walked through the front doors, Chick would figure it all out.

Can't read my mind my **ass**. I had been so fucking subtle!

She was right, though. And I could grudgingly admit that. Who the hell **was** she going to tell? Seeing dead spirits for the most part was totally shitty - trust me on this one. The _one_ good thing about it? When you found a ghost that liked you and that you liked in return, they were like your own personal confidante you know would never - _could_ ever - spill all your deepest, darkest secrets. They were like a diary no one would ever find, a best friend who would never turn their back on you, a second brain you could make sure would remember everything you told it. It was reason one of_ maybe_ three (and that's being optimistic) that made this 'gift' not so bad. Everything else? Totally sucked and extremely inconvenient.

"Good, that's a good name - masculine enough without being douchey. What's he look like?" Chick asked brilliantly, crossing her corduroy covered legs. She was always in her brown corduroy pants, deep yellow sweater and bare feet.

A common misconception is that ghosts wear the exact same thing in the afterlife as they wore on the day they died. The fact is, they can wear anything they want. A lot of them choose to wear their death outfit - they flaunt it proudly, kind of a "yeah man, I got stabbed in _this_ jersey" or a "I took my last breath in these pants - what of it, sucka". Chick chose to wear hers, not only because it was what she died in, but because it had been her favorite outfit when she was still alive. "It's comfy and I look disgustingly fabulous in it," she'd said.

"Tall," I said, grabbing a pillow and hugging it close to my chest, my mind forming the image of Ryan very clearly and vividly. "Thin, but not _too_ thin. Lean, I think is the word. Tanned skin, nice skin, big brown eyes. Dark brown hair. Good teeth - great teeth, actually. **Fantastic** voice, dead sexy Chick, dead fuckin' sexy. He could go places with that voice."

"You know me, I'm a sucker for a good voice. What about the unnatural - tattoos, piercings?" she asked.

"None that I saw," I said thoughtfully, attempting to ignore the mental image of him naked with two nipple piercings. Damn.

"Had you ever talked to him before?"

"No, never. I hadn't ever really noticed him around Campus before, either ..."

"You sure he's not a ghost?" she asked me, smiling shrewdly.

"Oh, ha ha. Hilarious. No, he's not a ghost, he's very much alive and gorgeous," I said confidently. "And everyone else noticed him at the game, so it's not like I was the only one that saw him."

"Is that where you met him? The volleyball game?"

"No, I actually approached him first. Oh don't give me that look, Chick, there's a story behind it. I found his notebook and pager on the ground when I was walking with Sophie," I explained. "I brought it up to class for him."

She frowned. "You guys are in the same class, yet you'd never seen the guy before?"

"Maybe I had seen him, I just didn't remember .. but no, we're not in the same class - he has his _own_ class."

She looked at me shrewdly. "How old is this guy, Lo?"

"He's ... shit, I don't even know," I said frowning. "Didn't really come up."

"I don't know how good of an idea it is to get involved with a professor," Chick said astutely.

"Oh, dear God, no," I said, shaking my head. "He's not a professor, he started his own class! Just like a student led one - he's not much older than I am, maybe a year or two. Three at the most."

"Hm," Chick said blandly. "What kind of class?"

I bit my lip, and looked apprehensively at Chick. She frowned.

"If you say he's like ... the leader of 'Penn State's Reformation of Neo-Nazism' or .. or, or the creator of Penn States Pro Bestiality or something, I'm not only going to be really angry, I'm going to be really concerned with your choice of men," she said honestly, a look of disappointment and embarrassment on that pale face.

"No way, Chick," I denied. "I would never ever ever date a guy that did that kind of stuff - I like mine relatively sane, thanks."

"Then what's he creator of."

"Oh, well ... well, see," I stammered. "He's kindaaa ... sortaaaaa ... well, he's the .. the leader of uhm - by leader I mean he's like .. he's like an entrepreneur, Chick, he like _started_ this whole society on his own and stuff, and like, keep that in mind, okay? .. he like ... he's really making a difference and like .. uhm .. he like ..."

"Oh God, he's totally a fucking Klan member."

"No! No he's not. Fuck, not at all. Christ, Chick, I wouldn't date a KKK member."

"You're stuttering and saying 'like' after every word. You are about to tell me something terrible."

"That's not true," I argued. "I don't say like when I've got bad news."

"Cut it out, just tell me what he does."

I opened my mouth, closed it again, opened it and then closed it again, looking around wildly for some kind of distraction, some kind of disturbance that could get me out of this conversation. Which in all fairness, I sort of knew was impossible. Lets face it: there is no commotion big enough to distract the deceased. Seriously.

It wasn't that I was ashamed of Ryan's line of work. Not at all - I thought it was somewhat inspirational. But I knew how Chick would feel about it - knew how the mass majority of spirits feel about it, in fact. And the bulk of them would rather be damned to the deepest parts of Hell than come in contact with a paranormal investigator. Why?

I'll explain later.

Because right _now_, my mind was going a mile a minute, trying to come up with an easy, pleasant way to break the news to Chick. I could avoid it all I wanted, but the truth was going to come out eventually. Better tell her now than lie about it, right? I'll tell ya, these spirits - **shit** can they ever be spiteful.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, I caught sight of something - some_one_ - very familiar out of the corner of my eye. Not in my apartment, no - on my television. Oh Jesus, in my channel changing haste, it seemed the clicking had halted on channel 20. Or, better known as the Arts and Entertainment channel - A&E.

I felt the breath catch in my lungs, the words die in my throat, my whole **body** go cold. This time it wasn't because Chick had walked through me - it was because I had just caught sight of the television screen, and on that big, beautiful 42 inch plasma TV, was a big, beautiful, all too familiar face. My stomach tightened - well, I guess this was sort of a distraction?

"Harlow!"

"Him," I managed to choke out, pointing to the TV.

She looked over quickly at the screen. There he was, still handsome as ever and in high definition too. Good God, he was so fuckin' yummy.

_"Up from what, the basement?" Ryan asked, surprised._

_"Yeah," the woman responded timidly._

_The show cut to a shot of the basement, and the PRS crew heading down there behind the woman and her teenaged daughter._

_"I don't like the basement. I want whatever's in the basement __**gone**__. This corner over here is where someone's crouched all the time. Almost like someone underneath the stairs hiding. That's what it looks like."_

_"And also when we first moved in," the girl said softly to Ryan. "The door would rattle. Like you could hear it rattling. It sounded like a silverware drawer being thrown down those stairs. It's like chains."_

_Ryan looked with clear concern over at the woman and her daughter and nodded._

"Him?" Chick asked. "That guy, the brown haired guy? On the television? That's the guy?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "That's Ryan."

"What's the show called?" she asked evenly.

"Paranormal State," I responded.

She turned her hard, piercing stare back on me, and glared menacingly at my surely snow white face.

"So," she said, contemplatively. "He's a ghost hunter."

"Paranormal investigator," I corrected softly.

"Same thing," she said sourly. "So he started a class about ghost hunting."

"Paranormal investigating," I said, cringing slightly at the bitterness in her voice. "And it's not a ghost hunting class, he does it because he wants to help people. Just ... give them information, help them kind of come to terms with things. Embrace the paranormal, not be terrified of it."

She gave me a rough, formidable look. "That's what they all say, and then they go and sit on their asses with their little recorders and ask us how we _feel_, what it's like to be dead, how did we die, are we in Hell, are we lonely, who do we miss, can we move that shoe, can we click this button, can we turn on that lamp, can I wipe your ass, can I prove I exist, can I shit solid bricks of gold, can I suck your - "

"I get it," I sighed. "I know how you feel about them."

"You can't even begin to understand," she said, voice dripping with hostility.

"No," I agreed. "I can't."

"You're alive, you're free, you're naive," she said bitterly. "I'm dead, I'm imprisoned. I'm here forever. I'm miserable, I'm sad, I'm completely fuckin' alone. No one understands that."

"That's what he's **trying** to fix, though," I argued timidly. "No one understands it, everyone's afraid of it, every ... every person has these misinterpretations. So then when **they** pass on, they're equally confused and scared as when they were alive. He's trying to fix that, Chick. He's not going to these homes and trying to aggravate you, he's trying to find out why you're here and why you can't pass on - he's trying to make people understand and not be fearful."

"Which is just what I need," she snapped. "More assholes to try and contact me and talk to me and get me on videotape. I'm dead, for fuck sakes, why can't they leave me alone."

"Human nature," I said softly. "We're just people. The unknown is what terrifies us, and makes us question things and ourselves and our beliefs. As long as there are questions, there are going to be people looking for answers. What Ryan is doing is trying to find these answers out **for** us. With as little intrusion and aggravation to you and other spirits."

She looked at me, glaring. "I thought you hated being a medium."

"What does that have anything to do with this?"

"Why in the fuck are you getting involved with a guy who deals with **precisely **what you despise?"

"I don't despise the paranormal," I said firmly. "I despise having to be in contact with it all day, every day, of **every **single day in my life."

"What, and dating some whack job with a tape recorder is going to make you dislike it less?"

"Paranormal investigator. And no. But if I base my choice in men on who will positively or negatively influence my ability to see you long deceased, bitter assholes, then my choice is extremely, _excruciatingly_ limited."

I hopped off of the couch and stormed towards my bedroom door. I couldn't hear her, but I could feel Chick's presence floating along angrily behind me.

"Don't spazz on me, Harlow Vincent, you're going against **everything** you've ever talked to me about, everything you stood for, everything you believed in. Just because you wanna bang some ghost tracker - what happened to believing in leaving spirits to rest, or not bothering the things that aren't bothering you, or .. orr, whatever the fuck other lies you spewed out!"

"I'm not interested in him because of his job, or because of this fuckin' psychic curse I've for some reason been 'blessed' with. And if you think I want to date him because I want him to help me '_hone in_' on my mediumship or because I want to be famous or because I want someone to understand my own fuckin' angst, then you're **seriously** fucking mistaken! I'm interested in him because he's a nice guy, he legitimately gives a shit about what I have to say and what I do, he's extremely attractive and has one hell of an ass. His line of work is so far below my interest level, it's not even funny. The only reason you're pissed off about this and are quizzing me about him is because you're worried he's going to storm in here with his team and shove a microphone up your ass. He's not **going** to, Chick, alright?"

I threw open my bedroom door and whirled around to face her.

"He's not going to because I don't intend to tell him any of this," I said furiously. "I've spent the past 10 years of my life trying to ignore and hide this. You think I'm going to blow it all on some guy just because his line of work kinda, sorta coincides with the worst curse any person could ever get **ever**? No. You're fucking wrong! You, the old angry man up on the twentieth floor, the young bell hop down in the lobby, the female jogger that circles this building everyday, all the thousands of spirits that walk through Penn State campus, and everyone else are going to remain a horrible, deep dark secret in this fucked up, unbelievably unlucky mind of mine. Ryan will never know, no one will ever tell him, and I will never, ever, **ever** tell **you** anything ever again for fear of you jumping down my fuckin' throat."

I slammed the door, hard as I could, and plopped down on my bed. My eyes were hazy with tears, my face red with embarrassment and mind completely enveloped with anger. Who the fuck did Chick think she was?

Right off the bat, before I had even walked in the front door, I knew this was something I shouldn't tell her - Chick, like a lot (most, to be honest) of other spirits, was strongly opposed to people like Ryan. Paranormal investigators, people that made their living off exploiting the dead. Psychics, investigators, mediums - they were less than liked in the world of the paranormal:

they were **despised**.

And I didn't blame them. Maybe it was because I had always been sensitive to them? But the bulk of them (spirits, that is) respected boundaries between the living and the dead, and they didn't overstep it. If they could show that kind of respect for the living, then why couldn't the living show them that kind of respect right back?

Initially, when I moved into the apartment, I ignored Chick's presence, thinking that that's what she wanted out of me. To be left alone, isolated like so many of those spirits crave. Days in, however, I suppose she began to realize that I could in fact see her. And could, in fact, talk and communicate with her. She didn't seem disgruntled or annoyed - although skeptical at first, she eventually grew to trust me and respect me, and vice versa. Slowly, she even began to sorta like me. Love was a strong word. But our mutual feelings about the majority of investigators and psychics brought us closer. She appreciated the fact that I wasn't there to exploit her - I was just a girl with an unfortunate gift.

Chick was like my couch potato, free-loadin' room mate. Born in the late 50's, deceased in the late 70's. How? Choked on her own vomit after raffing out in her boyfriend's van. Why was she still here? Frankly, she dug this place. It was home, it was familiar, and it was comfortable. Besides the date of birth, date of death and cause of death, I didn't really know much else about her. Her real name wasn't Chick, that was a fact. She never told me what it was, and I never really came out and asked. It was a mutual understanding between the two of us - even the dead had secrets.

Chick is the only person in the world that knows everything about me. More than Sophie. More than any sibling I ever had. More than any boyfriend, best friend, psychologist, teacher, more than anyone. The truth is, when you've got a history as terrible as mine, sometimes the only person you can really trust is a person that no longer walks this Earth with two solid feet.

My confidante died thirty years ago, and she held my secrets beyond the grave only because I told her beyond the grave.

Besides Sophie, Chick was the most stubborn person - er, spirit - I'd ever met in my life. She never caved in an argument, even when she was wrong. She never admitted defeat. She refused to acknowledge any other person's point of view that wasn't her own. And to be honest, why would or should she back down? She had all the time in the world to argue.

So my feeble attempts at defending Ryan, I knew, would literally take me nowhere.

Honestly, dealing with spirits is the most frustrating thing you will never do.

I pulled my legs up on my bed, and pulled a pillow over my face angrily. Now, lying down and no longer in the heat of _any_ moment, I could feel the exhaustion creepin' up on me. Everything hurt. My legs, my arms, my face - places I didn't even know existed ached and creaked. Physically, I was done. Mentally, I was completely drained. Between the five weekly volleyball practices, five hours of class a day and even longer amounts of time spent tapping away on my laptop, I had little to no time to be by myself and just _veg_. I craved it more than you will ever know.

I yanked the pillow off of my face and peered over at the clock. Sitting on the edge of my bed was Chick, looking roughly down at me. I nearly jumped out of my fucking skin. What'd I tell ya - it doesn't matter how long you've been able to see ghosts. Sometimes, they **still** fuckin' sneak up on you.

"I didn't hear you come in," I said dryly, attempting to hide the fact that I nearly shit my pants.

"That's because I'm dead and floated through the door," she responded flatly. "And I don't have soild limbs, so I can't turn a doorknob. Nor can I knock."

"I get it," I muttered.

"Listen," she started. "I know you're pissed - "

"You can't make me listen."

"Yes I can, I'm a ghost, I can go anywhere you can go. I'm pretty sure we've covered this."

"Fuck you."

"Another time. Listen. I know you're pissed off at me. That's fine. You're allowed to be. I'm an easy person to be pissed off at, I fully understand and appreciate that fact."

"As long as you know."

"I do. And since you're being honest, then I will openly admit that the thought of you dating some ghost hunting lunatic disgusts me."

"Lovely."

"Not quite. But .. if you like him, then you like him. There's nothing I can do, or say or whatever .. so .. fuck you for going with the ghost hunter and not the Klan member."

I glared down the bed at her. She glared back.

"He's not a bad guy," I said finally, letting my head fall back into the pillow. "He's really not."

"That remains to be seen," Chick said smoothly, rising from the bed. "But if he makes you happy, then by God, go jump his bones."

"I would have with or without your permission," I said snottily.

"I don't doubt that," she sighed, floating right back out through the door.

I frowned, pulling off my sweater irritably. Some people are born with the ability to contort their bodies every which way. Some are born with birth defects that make them the life of the carnival. Some are born genius', some are born athletes. Some are born rich, some are born famous. Some are fantastic writers, some are simply born business savvy.

Me? I would have settled for a normal, boring ol' talent. Like being a really good baker. Or having 20/20 vision. Or being able to draw straight lines without a ruler.

Did I get any of those? Nope.

I got to be a Medium. **Awesome**.

I shoved my head into my pillow and kicked my feet furiously.

"FUCKKKK," I screamed as loud as I could into the soft pillowcase. "_GAHHHHH_! I HATE DEAD PEOPLE, FUUUUUCK! "

"Yeah, well they're not too fond of you either, bitch," I heard her mutter behind the door.

I'd kill her, but what would the point of that be?

**(Sergey)**

"How do you think he's doing?"

"One of two ways," I said thoughtfully. "He's either doing superbly - just fantastic. Everything is going well, he's being suave and charming, she's impressed with his intelligence and compassion - and so on and so on."

"And the other, more _likely_ way it's going?" Eilfie asked, grinning.

"It's already long over, he's blubbered like a baby about how pretty she is, he's accidentally spilled all these dark, childhood secrets. Perhaps he's lost control of his bowels? Perhaps his bladder. Perhaps he's in the back of a squad car right now because he accidentally death clawed her boob."

Elf and Josh roared with laughter, and I smirked a little guiltily - Ryan was my best friend. I loved him to death. But I couldn't help it - sometimes, the jokes about him just wrote themselves.

"Oh, I don't know," Eilfie said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Maybe we don't have enough faith in him. Maybe things really are going well? They sure are taking a long time .. "

"Well, it's not a quick process, bailing a likely bosom groper out of jail - Heather and Katrina have their work cut out for 'em," Josh said, and the peals of laughter began once again.

The three of us were sitting in mine and Ryan's living room. Our house was one of about twenty side-by-side duplexes in a row - we rented it out together. Roomies for-eva! Or, at least until one of us got ourselves a steady girlfriend, that is (and let's face it, paranormal investigator and techie - I think we were gonna be here for _quite_ a while yet). We'd been leasing this place out for the last five years - the same year I came to Penn State. In all honesty, we really **were** ideal roomates - we were both relatively tidy people, we had respect for each other's things and we had unsaid but well known boundaries between one another.

The duplex wasn't huge, but it was spacious enough for the two of us to live together comfortably. It was large enough for all of our stuff to fit in there, and to keep the two of us _out_ of each other's hair. Which was a big 'must' for us. Ryan was like my brother, but even _I_ don't want my brother to be in my face **all** the time.

We'd figured out a steller living arrangement though, and for that we were thankful. You wouldn't even _believe_ the amount of college kids that live in shitty dorms with roommates they absolutely _despise_. We'd really hit the roommate jackpot.

The only thing Ryan really brought along besides himself, his bed and his xBox, was his dog, Xander. Some people would find that hard to deal with - personally, I freakin' _loved_ it. Growin' up, I'd lived in a small apartment with my parents. The biggest, flashiest pet I'd ever had was a goldfish named Sparkles. What's that you say? Gay name? Shut up, it is _not_.

Xander was and will always belong to Ryan - but I sorta liked to think of him as my dog too. When Ryan was away, I took care of him. Fed him, took him for walks, played with him. I loved him like he was my own.

Next to me, Xander was lying comfortably on his back, dozing in and out of a deep sleep. Absentmindedly, I scratched at his pale tummy and gazed out the window. It was well after midnight now, the streetlights were dull and glowing, the streets empty and cold. Every now and then, the occasional pulse and dim of headlights filled the room, but none had driven by in nearly an hour.

"Guys," I said thoughtfully, scratching at my beard. "You don't think he actually got arrested, did you?"

"Naw," Eilfie said, shaking her head. "I mean, we **know** he's a bit of a dope around Harlow but frankly he's so **much** of a dope that I don't think he'd even manage to pull off the whole sexual assault thing."

"And secondly, even if he _did_ grope the ol' boobies, I'm sure he'd be so embarrassed and he'd be crying so hard that Harlow wouldn't have even bothered pressing charges," Josh said fairly. "She's probably feel to bad for the poor ass."

Eilfie snorted. "God, can you even imagine? If that's the case, I'm pissed I didn't go! I would have paid _great_ money to see him latch onto her boob, let go and then just like .. _burst_ into tears."

"Nevermind seeing _him_ after that," Josh argued. "I'd pay every cent I've ever earned in my **life** to see Harlow's face!"

Eilfie burst into laughter, and just as she opened her mouth to speak, there was a faint _click_, and the front door swung open.

Standing in the doorway, pale and lookin' a little mentally challenged, was Ryan. He blinked a couple of times, and staggered into the front foyer. He looked completely disheveled. His hair was ruffled, jacket falling off. His face was relatively expressionless, paler than usual. Xander bounded off the sofa next to me and ran over to Ryan, snuffling joyously. Eilfie, Josh and I exchanged looks.

"Drink a little bit too much, buddy?" I asked, standing up to try and assist him.

"Or grabbed a little bit too much," I heard Josh whisper to Eilfie.

"I .. no," he muttered, trying and failing miserably to kick his shoes off.

I grabbed onto his arm, and he looked at me blankly. "Thanks Serge," he mumbled.

"No problem," I said, steadying him with my hand. "Come on bud, what happened?"

"What **didn't** fucking happen!" cried a voice from the door, and moments later I couldn't help but laugh as Heather and Katrina piled into our already cramped front hall.

"Is he drunk? Is he alright?" I asked them, slightly concerned at Ryan's completely stupefied mug.

"Not drunk, no," Katrina chirped, turning to the dazed Ryan and yanking down his coat zipper. "But I don't think he's quite alright, either."

"I think he's in shock," agreed Heather cheerfully, pulling Ryan's arm gently out of his coat. "But who can blame the poor turd?"

"I'm fine," Ryan muttered, a dopey smile flitting across his face. "Fine, just _fine_."

"He looks .. _dumb_," I said, rather helplessly.

"Did she taze him?" Josh muttered quietly from behind me.

"Taze?" Katrina asked, frowning. "Who?"

"Harlow," Eilfie and Josh responded, and I heard Ryan give a slight girlish giggle right next to me at the mention of her name.

"Why would Harlow have tazed him?" Heather asked, pulling the jacket completely off of him.

"Oh, Harlow," sighed Ryan wistfully, another even more ridiculously dopey smile spreading across his face.

"Oh God," I cried, half amused half concerned. "He's been date raped!"

"He hasn't been date raped," Katrina said, rolling her eyes and ruffling up Ryan's hair benignly. "God, you are the biggest drama queen in the world, Sergey."

"Drama _king_," I corrected irritably.

"Whatever," Heather laughed. "But no, Harlow did _not_ taze sweet little boss man. Did she, Ryan!?"

She thumped a hand joyfully on Ryan's back, and he stumbled forward slightly, catching himself on the wall. "Oh, Harlow, Harlow. Beautiful Harlow. I like her, Serge. I like her."

"You sure he hasn't been drinking?" I asked, frowning.

"He had one Corona, that's it," Katrina said.

"It was _her_ Corona, she gave me one," he said proudly, wrapping an arm happily around my shoulders. "Oh Serge, we shared Corona's."

"What's he talking about?" I muttered, completely confused at this new, slightly handicapped best friend of mine.

"God, we should've made him wear a helmet," Eilfie sighed from the couch. "What happened, did he get hit in the head with the dumb stick?"

"More like he got caught in a forest of dumb sticks," Josh muttered. "And was hit by every single one on the way out."

"We told you, he's not _dumb_," Katrina said testily, who seemed to suddenly decide Ryan was officially **not** safe standing, and she proceeded to steer him over to the living room. "He's in _shock_."

"Why is he in shock?" I asked, pulling up a chair from the dining room table.

We all moved over to the living area and took seats in a semi-circle around Ryan. Katrina plunked him down on the cushy armchair in the corner, the simple smile still prominent on his face.

"Well, that's his news," Katrina said fairly. "I don't think I should be the one to - "

"He's going on a date with Harlow on Monday!" Heather squealed, hands balled into fists and shaking with excitement. "Our dopey little boss! He got himself a hot date with the Lo-meister!"

"Tad, that was Ryan's news!" Katrina snapped angrily.

"What! It's not like he's going to be talking anytime soon," she said defensively, motioning to the dumbfounded Ryan. "God, you're right, Elf, it does look like he got hit with the dumb stick ..."

But Eilfie didn't hear Heather - neither did I, or Josh. We both stared, completely horrified and shocked, at the happy, blank faced Ryan on the couch. Him? And Harlow? On a _date_?

"It's gonna be - " Heather started excitedly.

" - a complete disaster," sighed Josh.

I hated to admit it, but Josh was probably right.

"It is _not_ going to be a disaster!" snapped Katrina. "Heather, Eilfie and I have four days to teach him all we know about first dates! Right, Eilfie!"

"Don't drag me into this," she muttered. "I've known him longer than you - he's a lost cause, Kat."

"Fine, don't help then," Katrina sighed. "Heather? You'll help me, right?"

Heather was seated on the coffee table in front of Ryan - a huge, wondrously happy smile plastered across her pretty face.

"Guys, guys ... watch," she said brilliantly, and with an audible - **POKE** - jabbed Ryan hard in the forehead. He blinked, smiled dreamily and closed his eyes.

Heather squealed with delight. "He's like the special needs hamster I always wanted!"

"Then it's up to me," Katrina said solemnly, marching over to where Ryan and Heather sat.

She plunked down on the coffee table next to Heather and grabbed Ryan's face roughly in her hands. His eyes flickered back and forth from her face to Heather's to the ceiling.

"Look at me, Buell," growled Katrina.

His eyes turned blearily to hers.

"I am going to assist you in becoming a non-creepy, confident, suave and charming guy by Monday if it's the last thing I do," she said sternly.

"Harlow," Ryan mumbled.

"Yeah. I am going to teach you how to behave properly and with class on your first date with her," Katrina said clearly. "I'm going to help you learn all the basics of being a charming, well-liked date, so you a), don't fuck up completely and b), don't get a restraining order put on you for drooling and accidental sexual harassment. Got it?"

"Okey dokey," Ryan slurred.

**POKE**

"Heather, _stop_ that."

"Ah, you ruin everythin'."

**(Harlow)**

"You're actually a lifesaver, Lo, I don't know what the fuck I would do without you."

"Keep it up, Kiss Ass, I'm about as excited as you."

On a brisk but sunny Friday, a mere two days after my less than friendly encounter with Chick (we were still barely talking), I was seated in the plush passenger's seat in Soph's Bentley. A car worth more than my entire house, belongings and savings. God, I friggin' _hated_ rich people. She was driving fast (likely way above the speed limit, good ol' Sophie seems unable to read speedometers very well) and slightly recklessly along the Pennsylvania interstate towards the rich and ridiculously snooty city of Villanova. A bunch of too rich, too drunk and too fantastic for their own good old people who back in their day, had been at the top of every business venture you could ever imagine. Of course, this is where Sophie was born and raised - much to her dismay.

Sophie's parents were at the top of the wealthy elite in the entire state of Pennsylvania - her father, William Kapor, a self-made multi-millionaire. He was in some kind of advertising business, the co-owner of an extremely successful and famous agency. They'd explained it to me over dinner one evening, but I kinda spaced out about two minutes in. You know when you're in class, and you know you should be listening, but instead you're just kind of staring and nodding and singing **reallllly** loudly in your head? Yep. That was pretty much every dinner I ever had with Sophie and her family. Mute them out, nod, nod, laugh when everyone else laughed, nod, nod again, smile when I was smiled at. I was very good at pretending to care, it's quite a gift, people, not gonna lie. Her mother, Alexandra Kapor (nee Schmidt), was the only heir to the Schmidt mining fortune. On their own, the two of them were millionaires. Together, more than likely billionaires. I'm so poor, I can't even afford a coffee from Starbucks on the _best _of days. The Kapors? They could more than likely buy out every Starbucks franchise in all of America.

God, I hated rich people. Did I mention that?

At this moment in time, every single person on campus knew of Sophie's ridiculous wealth - but it was not her doing, trust me on that one. Sophie had done everything she could to keep her fortune a complete secret - but unfortunately, some things just get out regardless of how hard you guard them. Don't get me wrong, to say she was ashamed of her wealth wouldn't be entirely true. She definitely enjoyed the luxuries of a never-ending bank account - c'mon, who wouldn't? But the price that went along with the fortune is what she despised the most. It was a price all the money in the world couldn't save you from. The fact is, when you're as wealthy as the Kapors, you could never _really_ trust anyone. It was hard to decipher between who was there for you and who was there simply for the benefits of you. Oftentimes I wondered if that's why Soph's so hard to get along with. She's built up her walls so high, it's nearly impossible to get in.

Sophie was an only child - she'd been doted on for years and years. Not by her father, who was far too busy to pay attention to his young daughter. And not by her mother, who's climbing social status proved to be much more important than her own young child. But by several live-in nannies that raised her nearly from birth to the time she moved out.

It was the this reason (and honestly, likely **many** other ones as well) that Sohpie had a serious chip on her shoulder. The majority of people who met Soph disliked her almost immediately - you had to give her time to open up to you, but most people don't have the time or the patience to wait on a new friend. She was a very private, angry person, and it came as a surprise to everyone who met her. Most blamed it on being the heir to a nearly billion dollar fortune - with money, comes attitude. But in actuality, it was nothing like that at all. You all know the saying, '_Money can buy you Happiness'_. When I was young, I believed it more than anything. Growing up in complete poverty and with the family I did, it seemed like no truer words had ever been spoken. After meeting Sophie, I realized just how false that saying was.

Sophie was the richest, one of the most beautiful and well put together people I'd ever met in my life. But underneath that beautifully abrasive and tough as nails exterior, there was a very small, very broken and very lonely little person. I had only seen this side of her once or twice in our short friendship, but I'd seen it. Money can buy you a lot of things, but it seems the one thing it can't buy is the most important thing of all -

_Love_.

From the tender age of one, she'd been shuttled between one nanny to another, never really getting to know her mother or father. Her dad was a busy man, he'd never been in the picture and Sophie never really blamed him. Her mother had always had the chance to be there, yet she never was. It was only when Sophie began to get older, mature a bit more, that Alexa really felt a need to connect with her. By then, it was too late. Sophie's bitterness had accumulated for over 14 years - there was no fixing the relationship and no fixing the person Sophie had become.

Soph could've gone anywhere in the world for University. She could've had the best education. She could've been a Yale student. Fuck, she didn't even _have_ to go to school if she hadn't wanted to. But she'd made the conscious decision from a young age to attend school, to do exactly what it was that _she_ wanted to do. Be exactly the person _she_ wanted to be. She didn't want to worry about money, about what her parents wanted, about any of that. This was her time for rebellion - she wanted an out, and she got an out. An out in the form of Penn State.

Her father was indifferent - her mother, furious. A Kapor, attending such a public, easy entry college? It was a horrific shame, a terrible travesty - she simply wouldn't - _couldn't_ - have it. She was prepared to call all of her connections. Fay Yearwood from Yale, Glenn Overton from Harvard, Jill Prescott from Brown. But Sophie didn't want any of it - her mind was set.

So she came here, alone and outcasted from day one. So did I, just as lonely and rejected as her. It's funny how the forgotten seem to find each other, huh?

Sophie came from wealth and privilege. Me, from poverty and hardship. We had seen ourselves in each other, and we'd clung to that. Lonely was only lonely when you were one - we had found each other.

"It shouldn't be that bad this weekend," Sophie said confidently, long and thin hair blowing behind her. "Bitch is having a dinner party on Saturday night, so she'll be pre-occupied with that. And she'll be drunk off cocktails, so there we go."

"Where's your Dad?" I asked, resting my arm lazily on the window.

"Probably in New York again," Sophie shrugged. "I didn't ask."

I smiled at the thought of Sophie's dad, William. The small flicker of resentment I felt towards him for abandoning Sophie so young was barely there anymore. Deep down, I knew he truly was a warm hearted guy and had he been able to, he'd have spent a lot more time with Soph than he did. He was a tall man, solid, with wide shoulders that could ram a door down if need be. He _radiated_ strength and masculinity. He rarely smiled, but he wasn't a cold man. He was just too busy to smile - there was too much work to be done. He and Sophie were nearly identical - in his younger days, he'd had dirty blonde hair (it was now closely clipped iron grey), his skin was pale and eyes small, sharp blue.

When I had first moved into my apartment, he'd sent a huge flower bouquet down from Key Largo - it barely even fit in the front door. I'll always remember that - I didn't have any family at all, no distant relatives or even any other friends. It was my only and the best housewarming gift I could've ever asked for. I never had a real father of my own, and I imagine if I'd had one, I'd have liked him to be in many ways like Mr. Kapor. He was the main reason I think Sophie kept in contact with her family. Somewhere deep down in the cold, black heart of hers, she loved him and she longed for some sort of relationship with him - however distant it may have been.

Alexandra Kapor was a different story. She bore Mr. Kapor scant resemblance, except that she also was attractive. She was tall and sleek, quick and loose. Her wide, plump lipped mouth and immaculately conceived black hair were her prizes. She was a cold woman, judicious and calculating.

"Your Mum didn't say anything about him being away?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. Frankly, Lo, he could've been standing right there next to her and she likely wouldn't have even noticed. Drunken twat."

I rolled my eyes. "Try to be a little positive, Soph. She does love seeing you."

"She loves cocktails, appletini's and Valium," Sophie responded dryly.

"But she also loves your dad and you," I argued.

"It's just a shame that she loves us in a way she learned from her therapist," Sophie muttered coldly. "Fuck her, though, Lo, we gotta spend the next 2 days with her. Next subject, please."

I laughed, and propped my feet up on the dashboard. "Hnnyesss, next topic - well, what are your feelings on the Iran crisis? You think Imperialism has played a key factor in it? Whatsay-youuuu? Hmmneh?"

"God, shut your hole," Sophie said, with a grin. "Only you, Harlow."

She swerved right, and a blare of horns followed the move - she flashed her middle finger out the window and kept at the 100 MPH speed. I clicked my tongue irritably and gave her arm a hard poke.

"Stop driving like such an asshole," I said angrily. "I hate being in the same car as you."

"Coming from the girl who drives about twenty clicks on the freeway," she sighed. "I find myself not really caring."

"I'd rather be in a low speed collision than a high speed one," I argued.

"Since we're on the topic," she said easily. "I'm taking you shopping on Monday."

"Since when were we talking about shopping?"

"We weren't, but since we are now, you are in dire need of some new Boho skirts," she said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes. "I don't even own any Boho skirts."

"My point exactly."

"Well I can't on Monday," I said, trying to be as casual as I could. "Busy."

"You are not," she said loftily. "School all day, then volleyball, but we'll go after that."

Oh Jesus, the time had come. I had been avoiding this moment for the past 48 hours, and here it was - it had creeped up on me and I was not in the _slightest_ prepared for it. **Please Toyota Corolla behind us, rear end this car, for the love of God, please ram us.**

"I .. I can't," I stammered, so horrifically unsubtly my face reddened. "I'm busy."

She frowned, and I could see her eyes narrow behind her thick aviators. "Busy with what? Another paper due?"

See, I could've lied. Easily. She was giving me an easy out, and if I was a smart person, I would've taken it. Clearly, I am not smart. Fuck.

"No, not a paper," I said uneasily. "I'm going out after volleyball."

"With who?"

"Just a friend."

She growled irritably. "Stop being so vague, Harlow. What the fuck are you doin' on Monday night?"

"I'm going out on a date," I said (er, more _blurted_ out loudly and rather incoherently), with a seriously _failed_ attempt at nonchalance.

Her head whipped around and I squealed in fright as she swerved manically along the right side - "SOPH, THE ROAD!"

"Who!" she exclaimed excitedly, whirling easily back into her lane and ignoring the multiple honks fired towards her. "Harlow, you gotta keep me updated! God, to think I almost didn't know."

"I was going to tell you," I lied, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. "I just didn't know when .. "

"Who is it?" she asked me, about a million times more cheerful than she'd been twenty seconds ago. "Is it Mark Adams, that friend of Chris'?"

"Who?" I asked, actually considering saying yes to that - God, I couldn't even image her reaction when I told her who it really was ...

"The really good-lookin' Spanish one," she said. "Don't even answer, I'm guessin' it's not him."

"No, not him," I said uneasily.

"Is it a football player?" she asked eagerly. "Wait, no, that doesn't even make sense .. you don't like Jocks. Hm .. oh! New art guy that just transferred here - in your Sociology class. Hot one, with the black hair - "

"It's Ryan," I blurted out, before I could even stop myself. "I'm going on a date with Ryan."

"That's his name? He looked more like a Mark to me," Sophie said thoughtfully. "Well, whether it suits him or not, he's a good lookin' guy. Not too - "

"No," I said, and I felt guilty at the tinge of misery in my voice. "Ryan, Sophie. Ryan Buell."

The quick turn onto the main street of Villanova was a silent one. The faint click of the engine and the repetitive rolling of the wheels on the ground were the only noises I heard. Sophie was frowning still, but I noticed her eyes were very focused and alert on the road - more than I'd ever seen them, actually.

We clipped along, only a couple numbers above the speed limit, through the beautifully landscaped and tall, immaculately charming houses. The Kapors lived in Tuxedo, the gated community on the west end of the city. About five minutes away from the interstate turn-off. I'd driven down these roads a million times, marveled at their beauty and exquisiteness. But it all seemed dull now, I barely even noticed.

I didn't know what to say, what to do - should I change the subject? Should I keep talking about him? It was terrifying that she had this much of an influence over me. I literally didn't know what to say, I was terrified of saying the wrong thing, something to set her off. It ashamed me that I had let someone have this much power over me ... but Sophie, as wonderful and lovely as she was, was a bit of a loose cannon.

"If you want to get out of it," Sophie said slowly, carefully. "I can help."

"What?" I asked, confused - I was taken aback by the softness and concern in her voice. "Get me .. what?"

"If you're doing it because you feel bad, or because he coerced you into it, Lo, I can get you out of it," she said again, very seriously.

"Coerced me into going?" I repeated. "What ... no, he didn't _coerce_ me to go on a date with him. I want to go - I insinuated it."

"You _want_ to go?" she asked me, voice dripping with a mix of shock and slight repulsion.

I felt my face burn, the second time in only a few days. "Yeah, I do."

Her jaw was locked, and from years of knowing Soph I knew it was a sign of extreme displeasure. She was angry. No, no .. that wasn't fair. She was displeased. Surprised. Perplexed.

"Why can no one I tell be happy for me," I muttered.

"Who else did you tell?" she snapped furiously.

_Fuck_.

"No one," I lied through my teeth. "I just mean .. no one is going to he happy for me. That's all."

She eyed me suspiciously, but turned her focus back onto the road, a slight vein in her forehead throbbing. I let out a silent sigh of relief - that was the first time in over ten years I'd almost let something slip.

"When did this happen?" she asked coolly.

"Night of the Kegger," I replied, leaning back into my seat uncomfortably. "After you had disappeared, I saw him and we hung out."

"Why was he there?" she asked, nose slightly crinkled.

I frowned. "I invited him. He and his two friends came to the game, and I invited them."

"Oh," she said blandly. "How nice."

I sighed, my blood beginning to boil. "Thanks, Soph."

She shrugged her thin shoulders. "I don't think he's right for you, Lo. Sorry."

"How would **you** know," I said irritably. "_**I**_ don't even know."

"Best friend intuition," she said calmly, turning into the Tuxedo compound.

"He's a great guy," I said, more to myself than her. "He's smart and sweet and thoughtful ... "

"And a ghost hunter," she said acidly.

"Paranormal investigator," I said angrily. "Why does it matter?"

Sophie sighed, and looked over at me morosely. "Really, Harlow?"

"What?"

"Look," Sophie sighed, slowing her speed in the residential area. "Harlow .. you're practically University royalty. You're top of your class, you're athletic, the captain of a University league volleyball team. You're beautiful. You're bright, you're nice, you're well-liked. You're top of the University hierarchy."

I rolled my eyes, and shifted gloomily in my seat. "Ryan's smart, sweet ... he formed his own _class_, for God's sake. He's handsome and he's so _fantastically_ kind, you don't even know. He's a wonderful guy, Sophie."

"Ryan .. okay, fine," she said exasperatedly. "Maybe he is a nice guy. He's not ugly by any means, I'll give you that. But he's a ghost hun - fine, fine, _paranormal investigator_. He's the lowest of the low on the totem pole of College. He's better suited for someone that likes the kind of stuff _he_ does. And you? You're better suited towards someone that likes the kind of stuff _you_ do. You belong with a pre-Med student, or a Law student or a PSU Lion or something. Someone successful, and that can support you in the future and that .. that you can actually see yourself with long term. What I'm trying to say is .. you are the best of the best, Lo. He is ... he is a paranormal investigator. I'm sure he's a great guy. But his kind of great, is not **your** kind of great."

I shot her a furious glare. "This isn't _high school_, Sophie. It's not about cliques or popularity or .. or whatever."

"No, no it's not," she agreed. "But it's life. It's preparation for your future. And it's the time you go out and meet new people, people you want to be with and that can positively influence you and your future. People you can see as prominent figures in your life."

"I _do_ want to be with him," I argued. "I _do_ want him to be a part of my life. You're focused solely on what he does - you don't even know him, Soph."

"Neither do you," she said softly.

"No, but that's why I want to **get to **know him," I said in exasperation. "I want to talk to him, and hang out with him and be his friend and just .. learn about him. He's done so much in the short time he's been alive - I want to know about him."

She glared ahead, eyes intent on the road. "The only positive thing about being with a guy like that is the fact that he has a television show. Socially, he's a bit of a - "

"Naturally, that's what you're focused on," I said acidly.

"Don't pretend the fact that he has his own show on some network isn't a _little_ bit of a turn on," she said condescendingly.

"It's **not**," I said indignantly. "I've never even seen the show. I'm not trying to 'date' him to get on TV, or to get a cut of his money or any of that. If that's why you think I'm interested in him, then clearly four years of being my best friend has taught you **nothing** about me."

"I didn't say that," she said simply.

"You insinuated," I said angrily.

"Whether I did or not, I think you're making a huge mistake," she said loftily. "And come Monday night, you're going to regret it."

"Fine," I said irately. "Fine. It's nice to know where you stand on the topic."

"It's just my opinion," Sophie said defensively. "By no means am I stopping you from going on a date with him. Go for it, give him a date he'll actually remember and be proud of."

"You're such a fucking bitch," I fumed. "Seriously, Sophie. Just .. forget I fucking mentioned it. Don't talk to me about it anymore."

"What," she said tiredly. "Don't be mad at me, Harlow."

"Just shut up, Sophie," I muttered. "I don't know why I even mentioned it."

Sophie was quiet for a minute as we continued slowly down the block. The houses in this neighborhood were **huge**. Some were four, five even six stories. It was the gated community of the rich elite of Villanova - the farther back you got in the compound, the bigger the houses, the larger the yards and the taller and wider the houses.

Normally, the drive to their house is a somewhat comical one. Sophie makes fun of me for gawking at all the mansions littered around the streets, I make fun of Soph for being a rich twat with no idea of the privileged life she had. This time around, the car ride was silent. You could've cut the tension with a knife.

I knew how Sophie felt about Ryan. And as much as she denied it, she had been brought up to think the way she did. No matter how hard she fought it, how hard she tried to rid herself of it, she would always have an aristocratic outlook. There was only good and bad. Rich and poor. The strong and the weak. And in her eyes, Ryan was all the negative. Maybe she was just tryin' to look out for me. Maybe she was just being a snob. I didn't know, but I didn't care.

It hurt my heart, I'm not going to lie. To have my best friend in the entire world feel so negatively about a guy I really - well, as far as I could tell, anyways - cared about. That was now two people - the _only_ two in the entire world who's opinion actually mattered, actually - that thought this was a bad idea. I glared out the window, my face more than likely stony and angry. Inside, my heart felt like it was breaking in two. God **damn** best friends.

We pulled up to the broad, wrought iron gates of Kapor manor and Sophie slowed her car down to a full stop. She rolled down her window and pushed the small silver button on the intercom. The entire manor was surrounded with brick walls - there was no getting in (or out, really) without assistance from the inside.

"Kapor residence," a voice sounded from inside the box, a tired and irritable one. "How can I help you?"

"Sophie Kapor," Soph said blandly.

It was silent for a moment, but a faint buzzing sounded from behind the fence and the front gates creaked and slowly opened. A voice, much friendlier than the last sounded from inside of the intercom: "Welcome home, Miss Kapor."

Sophie's brow furrowed, and she proceeded to drive through the gates down the main cobblestone driveway. The driveway leading up to the house was a beautiful, picturesque one. Regardless of how I felt, I had to appreciate it. I glanced over at Soph, and even through my anger, I felt a pang of pity for her: this was not her home. It never had been, and it never would be. The lines set so deeply in her face told a story very different than the ones she spoke of to me. Her tough exterior had shifted, and for a moment, the little lonely Sophie I knew existed deep down shone through vividly. Even rocks crumble sometimes.

"You'll be fine," I said softly, before I could help it and against my deeply set irritation from only seconds earlier. "It'll be fine."

She nodded, and shot a very guilty look over at me. "I know. I'm sorry, Harlow."

"I volunteered to come," I sighed, looking out the window into the sunny, flawlessly kept grounds.

"Not for this," she said. "Well, yeah, for this. But .. for the other thing, too. Good luck, Lo. Call me as soon as you're done on Monday, lemme know how it went."

I nodded solemnly, and unbuckled my seatbelt as she came to a complete stop. The manor was visible now, tall and beautiful, nearly five stories tall. The rustic mansion was intimidating but familiar, the many butlers and assistants running out to greet us even more so.

"Fuck my life," Sophie muttered.

"Fuck both our lives," I agreed, flinging my door open before they could beat me to it - I hated it when they did that.

I caught a glimpse of a small, stocky man on the far edge of the lawn, hovering by the large elm trees at the entrance to the back grotto. He was limping, his tanned clothes splotchy with dark brown smears and face crumpled and scratched beyond recognition. He sniffled and grumbled, pacing back and forth, staring Soph and I down with intense curiosity. I'd seen him everytime since I came here, he always walked along the west walls. I'd never spoken to him before, or acted as if I had seen him, but I had heard his screams long into the night. Painful, piercing and hopeless.

"I think I'd rather be dead," Sophie said bitterly, as the brigade of the estate's employees stormed towards her.

"Trust me on this one," I said grimly, wincing from the gruesomely despondent howls piercing the afternoon air. "I don't think that's such a fabulous idea."

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **

Hello! Before you yell at me and give me shit and throw things at me and kick my sorry ass, let me apologize! I suck, I know, I'm sorry! I had this chapter all planned out but it seemed like everytime I went to write something or finish a sentence or try and do _anything_ at **all** on it, it turned out super crappy. I would literally be like " and then the - GAHHHHH THAT IS SO STUPID EFFFFF!?!?!?! ahfisafhasfjhjshfksh?!?! " Serious writers block, even though I knew exactly what I wanted to happen. I'm sure all you other writers know the extreme frustration I was feelin'. FML. I swear, I'm going to try and update quicker this time (y'know, **within **two weeks of this, haha). I LOVE YOU ALL, AND I'M SORRY I'M SUCH A TERRIBLE UPDATER. You guys deserve the best, and I am far from that. SO, I have some fabulous people I wanna thank for their even MORE fabulous reviews!

**SurriB**: I just wanted to let you know, you're dead sexy and your reviews always make me crap my pants in joy. Just a fun little fact, I hope you enjoy the mental image that goes along with it ;) BAHA. Thank you thank you thank you for the fantabulous review!  
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**1nkH34rt**: That is a fantastically complicated pen name, I love it, hahhaa. Thanks for the sympathy, my swineyness and I thank you you darling darling fabulous person! How did you know, I love when people quote my story in their reviews (you're probably like "what in God's name are you talking about", bahaha)! Let's have babies or somethin', you are fab and I thank you muchly for your fantastic review.  
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**futureauthor62**: New reviewer, and I love you, you fabulous piece of hotness! You're definitely on to a lot of things, your review made me giggle with delight! I'm the same way, I'm actually super biased about romance stories. I usually avoid them like the plague, but I sure do love writin' em, haha. I'm glad you took a chance and read mine, I appreciate it! THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEW, let us be best friends forever and EVER and ever. (L)

Goody God, six reviews, you guys actually make my life. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Because I did not enjoy writing it. But next one will be better, I swear. I adore you guys, thanks so much for your reviews and your awesomeness, it really truly did make my week. UNTIL NEXT TIME (which I swear, won't be like 3 weeks again, honest!)

**LOVE:** Ellah!

PS: If this author's note made no sense, it's because I'm hopped up on Nyquil. Turns out someone has a sick sense of humor, and giving me a cold one week after H1N1 was the best idea they've ever had. BLAHHH.


	7. Old and Decrepit Is SO In Right Now

**Chapter Six**

Old And Decrepit Is SO In Right Now

**(Sophie)**

"How do I look?"

I peered over my shoulder, and couldn't help the smile that spread over my face - I swear, if she wasn't my best friend, I would hate that bitch. There was no such thing as an '_ugly day_' when it came to Harlow.

"You look flawless, Lo. As always."

She smiled, and rubbed a hand nervously over her arm. "I feel like I still stink ... can you smell me from over there?"

"No, dumbass. Practice ended almost an hour ago. You took a twenty-five minute shower, for God's sake," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "I'm pretty sure you've overpowered every stink particle that was clingin' on - not to mention that fact that I think you single-handedly used up the entire locker room's stock of loofa's - Kimmy's gonna kill you, you know. You smell fine."

She nodded, but her brow was furrowed. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

She walked over towards me and plopped down on the hard, wooden benches, legs splayed out in front of her. "This doesn't look too frumpy, does it? Be honest, Soph."

"It's beautiful," I assured her, rather testily. "Beautiful, Harlow. The dress honestly looks fantastic - "

"Well, I _did_ steal it from you .. "

" - your hair is fuckin' perfect - "

"Really? I didn't really do anything to it, just a bit of mousse ... "

" - those shoes, adorable beyond **belief** - "

"You think so? They're kind of ratty, I thought .. "

" - your makeup is impeccable - "

"I just sorta threw it on - I thought it looked a bit clownish, a little sloppy ... "

" - and if you don't shut your mouth, I'm going to shut it for you," I said wearily. "You look beautiful, Harlow. You're so insecure sometimes, it's infuriating - honestly, I don't know whether I want to punch you or hug you."

"You do **both**, _all_ the time," she laughed. "But thanks, Buttface. I trust your judgement. Well. No, I usually don't. But I will this time."

"You should try trustin' me more often, Ass. Is that new?" I asked, pointing to her lips. "It's a cute color .. familiar. Did you steal that from my bag, too, you thief?"

"Did **not**. _Fire and Ice_, I think it's called," she said thoughtfully. "I bought it myself - I _am_ capable of choosing nice things on my own, you know. And they're not _always_ out of your closet."

"I'd like to see you name one thing you haven't stolen from my place," I laughed, dodging the hard swat aimed at my head. "I kid, I kid."

"You sure I don't smell?" she asked worriedly for the **millionth** GOD _DAMN_ time.

"Like coconuts, vanilla, sparkles and rainbows and happiness and sunshine," I said irritably. "Christ, shut _up_. You look **and** smell fantastic. I'm not going to tell you again."

She smiled and flung those thin, but solid little arms around my neck. "I'll stop annoying you. Thanks for the help, muffin!"

"It's no biggie," I said loftily, resting my chin lightly on her head. "Call me as soon as you get home tonight. Or tomorrow, whatever. Just call me, tell me how it went."

"I will," she agreed. "First chance I get, I'll ring you. Soph ... you're sure I don't smell?"

I swatted her hard on the forehead. "Don't you have a date to be on or somethin'? God, get out of my _face_. By the way, you smell and look like an ass wart. You better hope your date likes the scent of a toilet rim, you Raunch."

She laughed, and gave me a shove. "Shut up."

"You and your dirty stench get out of here," I said, with a small smile. "You go and give Ghost Boy the best night of his life."

"It's Ryan," she said softly, pushing herself up off the bench. "Not Ghost Boy, Soph. Just Ryan."

She grabbed her purse - **my** purse, now that I thought about it (I swear to God, she owned more of my accessories and clothing than even _**I**_ actually did) - off of the floor of the locker room, and flung it over her shoulder. She reached for the fluorescent white cardigan that hung over the bench next to me, but I snatched it before she could.

Alright, look - I'm no fashionista. I don't pretend to be, either. But I **am** a best friend, and a damn good one at that (not to toot my own horn or whatever - but I'm pretty fuckin' decent). And best friends do not - not not **not** - let their _own_ best friends go out on dates in granny clothing. That's gotta be in like .. at **least** the top ten rules of BFFing. Perhaps even the top five. And cardigans come RIGHT behind shoulder pads and pantyhose on the Universally Acknowledged list of things **NOT** to wear on a first date. Although, I do wonder if the regular rules of dating apply to the date if the other party chases ghosts for a living. Are they really going to judge a girl's shoulder pads when they chase around invisible people with tape recorders everyday? I should hope not. That would be ridiculous.

But I digress.

I shook my head, and bunched the granny sweater into my gym bag.

"It's a date, not the early bird special at Denny's. No cardigans."

Harlow sighed and gave me that stupid _tilty-to-the-side-'what-are-you,-__stupid__?' _look. "Come on, Soph. What if I get cold? This is a dress, not a sweater. I don't want to be all showy and ... and ... y'know. It's a sweater, just in case."

"No. No. This is **not** a sweater, Harlow. This is a Cardigan."

"They're the same thing," she said in annoyance.

"No, in fact, they are not. Did you know - interesting fact here, Lo, pay attention - Cardigan is actually french for '_Hello, I've never gotten laid in my life because I wear knit jumpers like your Grandmother'_. That's a rough translation, I don't know, I'm not French. But in French and in **Guy**, that's what it means. Cool, huh?"

"That's not French, that's Sophie being a bitch," she countered. "Just give me the cardi- the _sweater_."

"You're 24, your tits have not yet sagged to your belly button and you're in better shape than everyone on campus," I reasoned. "Cardigans hide flab, sag and droop. Trust me on this one - **no cardigans**."

"I don't know," she said tiredly. "It's not for looks, it's to keep me from freezing my ass off."

"Fine. Fine - take the cardigan. But before you go, lemme just go grab you some horn rimmed glasses, panty-hose and a pillbox hat ... y'know, complete the ensemble. Cause we both know, old and decrepit is _so_ in right now. Hey, you want some Ovaltine too? I got some right here in my moth-eaten handbag next to my Vitamin C supplements and my cough drops .. here, take this nickel too, you kiddies can buy yerr-selves a sew-dee pawp - remember, it's two bangs on the left and one on the right, that's how you start the Jukebox, and - "

"Fine, fine. I get it," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "No cardigan."

"Definitely no cardigan," I agreed, grinning.

She shook her head, but smiled in spite of herself. "I'm going, Soph. Wish me luck."

"Good luck ... ever getting a date again after being seen with Ghostie," I said, laughing and narrowly avoiding her lightening fast smack at my face. "Just kiddin', Lo. Good luck."

"I hate you."

"You smell like cow tits."

She cast a very weary look over at me, but disappeared out the locker room doors. The tapping of her shoes on the hardwood grew faint, until suddenly, they were gone. I ran a hand through my filthy, sweaty, greasy hair (so attractive, right?) and sighed.

"God, help her," I mumbled.

**(Chip)**

"I teach these kids one thing and it's something I've been criticized on the internet for doing. And I make no apologies on the _internet_, and by God I am not going to make any apologies to you now - and that is **face your fear**. What other option do you have?!"

I looked stubbornly from face to face in the nearly packed PRS classroom, and nearly fifty sets of eyes stared back intently at my own. What a fantastic feeling - the group seminars I was so blessed to be able to do were my absolute favorite things in the world. The connection you could make with your audience - Wow! The experience in itself was amazing, nevermind the people you truly were able to touch with your message, regardless of what the message may be.

"You _have_ no other option," I continued - I was on a **roll**! "Chances are, these guys aren't going to stop comin' to you. They **know** you know about them, so you've gotta find a way to deal with it. If you're freakin' petrified and jumping out of your skin, the _only way _you're goin' to be able to deal with it is to face your fear, manage your ability!"

A few people in the front row nodded absentmindedly, scribbling quickly on their looseleaf. Oh, the memories came a-floodin' back to me - it had been nearly thirty years since I had sat in a University class room.

"If you don't, you better face it - the situation's not going to change," I finished - question in the front room, hello! "You in the back, in the purple top - gorgeous top, by the way, is that chiffon? What's your question, darlin'?"

"Oh thanks!" the girl blushed, standing nervously out of her seat. "Yeah, it's silk chiffon .. good eye, Mr. Coffey. Uhm, well, my question is, you clearly work a lot now with kids that have clear psychic-mediumship ability. And before this - before Psychic Kids and Paranormal State and all the publicity and everything, you were a crisis counselor to young kids. How did being a medium affect - if at all - being a crisis counselor?"

"Fantastic question, and I think it'll be the last one," I said, glancing at Ryan who had just motioned politely up to the clock above the class door. "So like you said, I did crisis counseling for youth back in my twenties and in my early to mid-thirties. Crisis counseling is basically when you help counsel individuals or families that have recently undergone a **huge** upheaval in their lives, or a very traumatic experience - and they need help getting through it or thinking and brainstorming of ways to improve the situation and fix it. Now, can anyone tell me, first off, how they think my Mediumship might have affected my counseling? Yes, you in the third row, white shirt."

"Yeah," the guy said, scooching around awkwardly in his chair. "If you were working with a young kid whose ... who say, his Mother died in an accident or somethin', and you came in contact with the mother. It could possibly have like .. a profound effect on that client."

"Exactly," I said, nodding. "Exactly, spot on, Pal! Luckily - or I mean, perhaps _unluckily_ - that **rarely** happens. Being a medium and being a counsellor are two separate jobs for me. I don't like to mix them. Counseling is what pays the bills, it's what I looked at as my main career for the longest time. Psychic readings was more of an '_in my spare time_' sort of deal. Very rarely, if not rarely than never, did I cross those two together - it can be very dangerous, and something like a .. like a conflict of interest, really. Only once did the two jobs of mine intermingle, as far as my memory permits. And the one time that it actually _did_ occur, that was the main reason I even started _considering_ a career in merging the two occupations. Gosh, I haven't thought of that case in so long ... strangest one I ever did. Of course, that's a story for another day - time is making fools of us again."

"Can you tell us about that particular case, please?" a girl in the front asked, grinning cheekily at Ryan. "Sorry, Chief, just this last story, I swear."

"I'll let it slide," Ryan said with a chuckle. "If Chip has time, of course."

"Sure!" I said cheerfully, content with my ridiculously (thus far, anyways!) successful lesson.

I leaned back on the desk behind me, and grinned thoughtfully. I hadn't thought of this particular case in a long time .. it had been pushed to the back of my mind, years and years ago. Gone, but not forgotten. Oh-ho, not _nearly_ even **close** to being forgotten.

"It had to have been almost twenty years ago," I said reminiscently. "I was in South Carolina working at the time, I'd just moved down there from Atlanta, so it was a huge change for me. I remember I was called in to the CPS - Child Protective Services, of course - head quarters to do an evaluation on a young girl that had just been pulled from her home and put into the national foster care system. She was about .. five, six years old. Young thing."

I slid up on the desk, and looked considerately up at the ceiling. "The poor girl, her life was an absolute shambles. From the case work I was given, it outlined the documented abuse in her household. I remember reading the report and being physically **sick** to my stomach. She had finally been pulled from the home - and you will never, not in one million years, guess why."

The room was silent, no one dared to breathe.

"According to police reports, she had just witnessed her _nine year old _sister commit suicide in such a stomach-churningly, gruesome way, that I don't really care to repeat it, to be honest. Just think ... to be nine years old and **that** unhappy with life - can you imagine? Not only had this young girl witnessed her sister's suicide, but she'd _also_ walked in on her mother murdering her step-father on that exact same night - it all happened within a five minute time frame. The mother shot the step-father in the head or something, out of self defence - completely slaughtered him with a shotgun. Gruesome .. truly **horrific**. And the girl had witnessed all of this. And even after all these warning signs and the numerous calls from the schools and concerned neighbours had come in to the police station, it took them nearly a year to take action. The state had **finally** decided to pull her and her eleven year old mentally disturbed brother from the home ... don't even get me _started _about our foster care system. But they were too late - the damage had been done. This poor thing, _six years old_, and she'd seen more horrific things in her life than people ten times her age."

There was a slight murmuring around the room, but that just kept me going - the story was a tragic one, but the atmosphere only further intensified my tale.

"She was a tiny little thing - itty _bitty, _I remember that well. Underweight and undernourished, she looked like she'd never had a decent meal in her life. But there was a fire in that little girl. I remember that very clearly. For what she'd seen and had to deal with, there was an air of defiance, and ... _independence_ about her that I just can't describe. There was this will to live, this overwhelming sense of, like, '_I will make it through this. I will carry on'_. Six years old, but to this day, the bravest person I think I've ever met. She shook my hand when I saw her for the first time - I remember it was like shaking hands with a skeleton, waxy skin stretched over bone, that was all there was to her. She was polite, very polite, but guarded. Well spoken for someone so young, but very clearly damaged - her face was years older than she was, so grim and pallid and so .. _sad_. There was a fight and a fire in that face, but you had to look close to see it - because outwardly, all there was to look at was a horribly unattractive and emaciated little pile of bones."

To this day, the image of the young girl haunted me. It was like a real life, living, breathing zombie. It was burnt into my brain for all the rest of eternity.

"The interview I was hired to conduct was supposed to give them a picture of what her mental health was - we didn't know if she'd suffered abuse, or if there was any mental retardation or pre-existing conditions that we didn't know about - her medical records were shady, **very** unclear. We only knew of one family condition - her brother was only eleven at the time but he'd been admitted to a state hospital a few weeks before her removal from the family home - he had a **severely** progressed case of Schizophrenia. Which, anyone here studying mental illnesses or psychology, knows there are only a handful of documented cases of children with the disease. It's extremely prevalent in adults, but rarely ever shows signs of itself in youth. And, in many cases of the illness, it's hereditary."

A couple of people nodded in the classroom, and I could see Ryan listening intently. He'd heard this story a million times, but it fascinated him in a somewhat gruesome way every time I had the chance to retell it. I couldn't blame him - the story only grew more and more bizarre as it went on.

"I spoke with her for nearly two hours, and she was phenomenally well-mannered. Upfront and honest. But strange - most girls her age are playing, or fiddling around, very busy and unfocused when you're trying to have a conversation with them. She sat very still, the _entire_ interview, answered all of my questions without even moving a muscle. It was like something out of a horror movie, y'know - this _shell_ of a human being, just staring and listening and speaking quietly and unsettlingly eloquently. But she was nice. Not rude or nervous or angry, nothing. She was literally, **nothing**. So I began doing the Schizophrenia symptoms tests, asking common questions and trying to get a feel for how her ol' noggin worked. She answered everything regularly and properly - all the answers she gave me were regarded as _'normal_' in all the Psychology textbooks I'd ever read. Everything was going just swimmingly, until I began asking questions about her social life. I asked her about her friends, and she told me she had none. And I remember saying to her, well that's strange. You're such a pretty girl (which, God forgive me, but she **really** was _not_, but the poor thing - I felt so badly for her) and you're so friendly too. You've got to have at least one friend. And she looked at me, very seriously and very earnestly, and she said to me - '_None that are living anymore_'."

The room had fallen dead silent once again, all eyes focused up on me.

"Most counselors, bearing in mind with the truly horrific things this young girl had seen, would chalk this up to depression or post traumatic stress. But, up until that point, she had been completely sane and competent. If there was really something wrong with her, I would've been given signs beforehand. I would have sensed something, or documented something in my notes that kind of sounded an alarm, but there was nothing. Nothing except a very funny feeling right in the pit of my stomach. But you can't base the results of a mental illness test on a hunch that you yourself have, you know? So I kept questioning. I asked her, what do you mean none that are living anymore? Do you mean some people you knew that passed away? And she shook her head and said '_No, I don't know these people, but they come and they find me and talk to me, and they ask to be my friend. And I know I don't like it when no one wants to be my friend, so I always say OK, I'll be your friend too_'."

There was an audible shudder that rang through the classroom.

"And then - this is the part I will always, for the rest of my years, remember - she looked at me, with that plain, pale, skeletal looking face and said '_I'm not like Kingston, Mr. Coffey, Sir. I don't imagine it. I really do see them.'_ Kingston was her brother, the one with severe paranoia and schizophrenia."

No one in the class moved, and I could feel the guilty sense of accomplishment - this story, regardless of who I told it to, sent shivers down everyone's spine.

"Two days after our encounter, the girl was placed into the foster care system in a home in South Carolina - the same town I was living in at that time. Luckily for me, I got to sit and chat with her weekly for the next two months before she was carted off to another state and another family. But before she left, and the more I spoke with her and learned about her, the more I realized that this girl was a girl with extreme ability, nothing like anything I'd ever seen before."

"What kind of ability?" a man in the front row asked quietly.

"She was a medium - but one with astounding abilities. She could see spirits, but not the way myself or the majority of other mediums see them," I said. "We see them as sort of .. _masses_, if you will and if we concentrate and if they let us, we see them as clear images, like blurry photographs in front of us. This girl, she saw them as clear as the day. Like me lookin' over at you, bud. Or you lookin' at Ryan. She could talk to them and speak with them like I'm speakin' to you right now. She could communicate with them like they were still alive, still right next to her, heart's beatin' and blood flowin'. No one else could see these people, but she saw them and she spoke with them. These were the 'people' she meant when she said her friends weren't alive anymore."

"But, that doesn't make sense," a girl in the back of the room said incredulously, flushing as the room turned to look at her. "Sorry .. I mean .. clearly if there's Schizophrenia in the family, like you said it was very prominent in her brother's case - well, then wouldn't this just be Schizo in her case as well? I mean, she was seeing people that weren't there and communicating with them .. "

"That's the thing," I explained. "There **were** people there. I could sense it. Now I mean, in order to believe _her_, you'd have to believe _me_. And I know that not everyone here believes in Psychics - that's perfectly okay, you're allowed to believe whatever you want. So, for those who don't have faith in Mediums or are self-proclaimed skeptics, let's just_ pretend_ like you **do** believe, just for the moment. Look at this story from the perspectives of real believers. I would spend time with this girl, as much as I could - she had no one anymore. I would take her out for ice cream, she always loved mint chocolate chip, those sad little eyes would just brighten right up every time she'd get a cone like that. We'd walk and talk with our cones, and I'd take her to the local playgrounds or the library - she absolutely **loved** to read, she was brilliant - or the mall or little dollar shops around the town. From what I could gather from the information she gave me, her mother was never really .. a _hands on _sort of parent. She went everywhere with me wide-eyed and excited - every experience was a new one for her."

Some of the girls in the front couldn't help the sad little '_Awwwe_'s escaping from their lips, and I couldn't blame them. I'd forever remember the thrill and surprise etched into that young, but aged face every time I'd take her somewhere new - it broke my heart.

"Now, ever since I had met the girl, I had sensed this overwhelming power and aura of energy that surrounded her," I said. "So as much as these little outings and trips were done to make her happier and make _her_ feel better, they were also for me - I wanted to test her. See, I can turn it on and off - my Mediumship, that is. I always sense when there's a presence, but unless I specifically hone in on something, I won't see it or learn anything from it. So the next time we went out, I decided to begin testing her - subtly, of course. So on one of the last times I ever saw her, I took her for a snow cone and then we went to a plain but beautiful park that used to be a couple yards away from an old army ground - the old grounds had been closed and torn down about two years after the second world war ended. I told her about my favorite spot, a shady bench underneath a giant oak tree - she wanted to go and see it. As we were walking there, I kept taking quick little glances over at her face - the closer we got to the bench (which, coincidentally was located only a couple of feet away from the old base), the more and more distressed her face became. It was like every step we took hurt her more and more - it was strange. So I asked what was wrong, and she said the '_guy in the grey shirt kept telling her she had to go_', that she wasn't allowed here."

"Who was the guy in the grey shirt?" asked Heather, brow furrowed with interest. "A park guard?"

"There was no one physically in that park with us," I said. "But here's the thing: for the nearly **ten times** I'd visited that park alone, I had _always_ sensed a presence. A man, I knew that, and I knew he had been in the army or was somehow connected to the old base. Every time I'd gotten close, it would block me out and run away. I could never communicate with it. That time with her, I could sense it again, tell that there was a spirit man here. But it blocked me out - I couldn't gather any information."

"But this girl could?" a guy in the front asked, perplexed. "Supposedly?"

"Not supposedly - she absolutely, one hundred percent **did**," I said. "I asked her a million questions. What was his name, what did he look like, was he nice, what was he wearing - she told me everything, right down to last detail. She was hesitant at first, she kept asking me "_why can't you tell? Don't you see him too?_". I chalked it up to old age - I told her no, sorry Dear, I'm just an old guy, my sight isn't what it used to be. That seemed to pacify her. She told me all about him, all this information just came spewing out of her - it was the first time I'd seen her act like a six year old. She talked until she had no breath. Blabbed on and on and on. He had a wife named Gretchen, she said. Two kids, but he didn't really like the younger boy very much. Alexander and Katelyn, those were his kids names, he lived in a small yellow house in the next city over. Gretchen had been working on her Petunia's but they weren't sprouting. Alexander had just learned to ride a bike - it was a neon orange one, with a bell that dinged very loudly. Katelyn had just learned how to make flower chains out of the dandelions in her mother's garden - when Al would come home every Friday, there would be nearly thirty necklaces hanging all over the fence. All of this completely random information, so specific but it came shooting out of her, lightening quick. Like a story she blurted out because she was afraid she'd forget. It was fascinating."

"I thought she had to speak directly to them?" a girl in the middle asked.

"She was. She was relaying these messages from him to me at lightening speed. She didn't always have to speak to them and make contact first - not if they chose to speak to her first," I explained. "Sometimes, spirits find it such a relief to have someone they can talk to and vent to, they'll find you and speak with **you**. This man must've seen something in this young girl, felt comfortable. He was so used to no one seeing him or trying to communicate with him, he must've been just overjoyed to find someone so young and so innocent that he could just spill everything to. And the girl's anxieties about the location seemed to lessen after the man's reaction to her Sight was a positive one. The moment I asked a question about the supposed man, she'd ask him, he would seemingly answer right back and she'd tell me in great detail all about him and his answer to my question. Al, she called him."

"Was there any records of a man named Al?"

"I didn't know until I went to research it," I said. "But even if there was no records, I can't say I wouldn't have believed her - what child can spin a tale that fast? I remember this - the last thing she said, before we walked away, was '_he has a big hole in __**this**__ side of his neck - I can see his bones at the top, but he doesn't want to talk about it_'. It creeped me out, I'm not going to lie. So, we left the area and I took her back to the office, and went on my merry way to the library where I looked up every bit of information I could on that location. All the old archived paper clippings and chapters in the town's history books. And now comes the absolutely **astounding** part -_ every single _piece of information she told me about this Al character fit the description of the _one _- yes, only **one** - fatality in that area. A man named Aldous Montogmery, a twenty seven year old Army General, married with two young children (a boy and a girl), that was accidentally killed when a fellow soldier mistook him as a trespasser and shot him point blank, directly in the right side of his neck - the shot was fired point blank - the wound allegedly ran so deep there were reports that you could see the bottom of his skull from the gaping hole in his throat."

"What about the yellow house?" a girl in the back asked softly.

"I've never checked into it," I said thoughtfully. "I imagine I could've, but I had heard enough. Why check up on that as well? Freak myself out even more? No - she'd told me enough. Everything was correct."

"You don't think she could've just ... overheard someone talking about it?" a guy in the front asked, rather desperately.

I shook my head. "There was no way, absolutely no **way**, that a six year old girl could have faked this information. Even if she'd overheard it - who in town would've been talking about it? It's not like it was a popular urban legend or a story she'd grown up hearing - she'd only been in the town a couple of weeks. There was no doubt in my mind that I had just discovered - in my opinion, anyways - one of the most magnificently gifted children in the world."

I sighed, and hopped off the desk.

"I wish I had known her longer than I did. I think with her help, the two of us could've done a lot of good for children with Psychic abilities. I never even had a chance to tell her about my _own_ experiences. She was there and gone so quickly."

The room was quiet, but one lone hand rose somewhere in the sea of people in front of me.

"Yes, you?"

"You don't still talk to her?" a young man asked. "I mean if you do, you should _really_ bring her here, put her on the show or somethin' with a gift like that, right?"

There was a murmur of agreement amongst the classroom's occupants, and I laughed sadly.

"She would be a fantastic addition to the PRS family, no doubt about it!" I agreed. "Unfortunately, I lost all contact with her after her second state placement. After her initial move, the records of her travels and foster family history became somewhat jumbled - it's nearly impossible to keep track of a foster child, even today. I haven't seen her in years. I pray for her, sometimes. I would love to see her, see what she's become. A fire like that, I can't see anyone or any **thing** putting it out. I like to imagine that she's moved on to better, greater things."

I looked over at Ryan, who was looking distractedly up at the clock. He, like I, had just seemed to notice the time. Oh, shoot!

"So that brings this lesson to an end, cause we're running about fifteen minutes over .. thank you for coming! This is an absolutely fabulous class, thank you!" I said, amongst clapping and hooting from the dozens and dozens of students. "God Bless, guys, thank you! See you Friday!"

The cheering subsided somewhat, and the majority of people made their way out of the classroom, notebooks tucked gingerly under their arms. I stood and spoke with a small, constantly rotating group of students, until slowly and one by one, the class trickled out of the room. Left surrounding me were my favorite kids in the entire world - Ryan, Heather, Katrina, Josh, Sergey and Eilfie.

"That was **awesome**, Chippy," Heather said cheerfully. "Like we expected any _less_ from the Great Chipini."

"You're such a kiss ass," Katrina laughed, rolling her eyes. "But you're right even in your glorious kiss-assing-ness - that was freakin' **fantastic, **Chip!"

I waved a hand dismissively. "Psh-awwe, you're both too kind."

"That really was a great lecture," Ryan said happily, slipping his coat on behind his desk. "One of your best to date, I think it's safe to say."

"Nevermind me, where are _you_ in such a hurry to go?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at the normally habitually slow, easy-going young man. "You're blitzin'!"

"Chief's got a little date," Serge whispered loudly, and I saw the rest of the PRS kids giggle helplessly.

I threw a hand against my chest, rather dramatically. "A _date_! With _who!_ I must admit, I'm a bit miffed you didn't tell me about this new lady love!_"_

Ryan smiled shyly and shook his head. "No, I don't think it's a _date,_ we're just .. hangin' out."

"**Lies**," Heather said loudly, with a bright grin. "It's a date, Ryan. You asked her, she said yes, you made a time and planned a place - that is epitome first date, Bossman!"

Ryan shook his head again, but even I couldn't help but notice the sly grin fighting to take over that handsome, young face - how adorable!

"Well," I said easily. "Who's the lucky lady then, Ryan? I have to say, I'm glad you're not with that Katie anymore - "

"_Horseface_," Katrina coughed loudly.

Heather neighed benignly.

"She wasn't a horse face," Ryan said defensively. "She was just .. unique lookin'."

"Unique?" Josh said, confused. "Really? If by unique you mean pony-esque .. "

"I wanted to throw a saddle on her and ride into the sunset on her back," Heather said cheerfully. "She looked like a Shetland pony."

"Poor Shetland ponies," Sergey said sadly.

"She did **not** look like a Shetland pony," Ryan said. "She was cute."

"If by cute you mean '_oh how adorable, I can feed her sugar cubes out of my palm!'_, then yes, cute would be the word."

"Anyways, Chip," Josh said softly, motioning with a subtle hand to the door. "_That's_ new girl."

I turned with the rest of the crew towards the door, and felt the breath catch slightly in my throat - an alarmingly stunning girl, of almost freakish beauty had just entered noiselessly into the room.

"That's no Shetland pony," I said quietly, mouth agape. "That's a freakin' _Goddess_."

The girl was of average height, probably no taller than I was, but she had long, sleek, chestnut brown hair pinned back elegantly, with a few curled pieces hanging casually down the sides of her beautiful, sculpted face. She walked in with such tremendous elegance, I could feel my heart begin to beat at just the sight of her - how had I never seen her before? Surely, I would have remembered a person like **this**. She looked ahead, past me and all the others, and smiled - I saw her eyes focused soully on Ryan, and I couldn't shake off - or understand, frankly - the piercing stab of jealousy spike through my heart. I'd never even met the girl, but any attention that she aimed at a person other than me stirred up an angry beast in the pit of my stomach. You've heard people talk about maddening beauty - well, I'd just met the epitome of it. She smiled, plush lips pulled back to reveal an immaculately well kept set of teeth. As far I could tell (without looking like **too** much of a perv), her body was absolutely faultless. It was wrapped up tight in a snug, curve-hugging red and white summer dress. She stopped, noiselessly and with astounding grace about fifteen feet away from our small group.

"Hello," she said quietly, and I was surprised to hear a soft note of anxiety in an otherwise velvety smooth voice.

"Hi," we all responded simultaneously.

"Sorry, I'm late," she said apologetically, fiddling with her bag absentmindedly. "Practice ran a little long."

Ryan, shockingly calm and rather suave, nodded understandingly and moved slowly and with purpose towards the beautiful young lady. I'd have to congratulate this newly improved slickster Ryan - I was so used to, and I'd grown rather fond of, the normally blundering, slightly doof-like Buell.

"Our class ran late too," he shrugged. "It's no problem - you look lovely, by the way."

I saw a faint pink light up her cheeks, and felt slightly guilty at the look of obvious confusion that must've been very apparent on my face - how Ryan managed to land a girl like this was **far** beyond me. Don't get me wrong - you can't get a better, more decent and charming guy than the ol' Buell here. But this girl was ... _angelic_. Radiant to the point of it being almost inhuman - it wasn't even natural.

"You too," she said, rather timidly.

"I love your dress," Heather said brightly. "Where'd you get it?"

The young beauty smiled, and smoothed the soft dress down against her legs. "It's Sophie's - who needs to _actually_ go shopping when there's a small mall in your own best friend's closet, y'know what I mean?"

"Hey, isn't that what a best friend is for, anyways?" I joked, my mouth moving before I could even stop it - God, what a pretty woman can do to mind control is staggering ...

I saw her turn her gaze to me, and her glittery, bright green eyes went oddly blank - I flushed, slightly embarrassed. I hadn't noticed them before, but she had the strangest, most unusual eyes of anyone I'd ever seen. Big and round as saucers, and a green like no other - they were piercing, it was like she could see right through you. There was a haze to them as they looked me over, a slight fog behind the brilliant emerald. They were vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd seen them before.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ryan said apologetically, clearly unaware of the harsh stare I was on the receiving end of. "Lo, this is - "

"Chip Coffey," she cut him off softly. "My God .. "

The fog lifted, and a fire erupted behind those pupils - her face lit up and mouth stretched big and wide into a brilliantly fantastic smile. The split second change caught me off guard. I laughed, a slightly strained and embarrassed chuckle.

"Seen me on television?" I asked, half joking. "It's nice to meet you - Lo, was it?"

"Harlow, actually," she corrected politely, eyes growing wider and more excitable. "You don't remember me, do you?"

I frowned, the uncommon name clicking somewhere in the deepest confines of my mind. "The name is vaguely familiar, but - "

"Harlow Vincent," she said, the corners of her mouth turning slowly up into an even bigger, happier smile. "But when I knew you, it was Harlow - "

"Mercer," I whispered, mouth agape for what had to have been the fifth time in only one minute.

My heart had stopped, I swear.

My God, how time had changed that face.

**(Harlow)**

That face was just the same as I remembered.

My heart was beating a mile a minute!

In front of me, in all that Atlanta goodness, was the one and only Chip **freakin'** Coffey! It had been years, nearly twenty, since I'd last seen that wonderful face! I wanted to run over to him and squish those cheeks, hug him until I could no longer feel my arms. I made a small move towards him, before I could even help it - my body was moving on it's own accord, I swear to God. My heart was full, threatening to pour over with happiness - I never thought I'd see him again!

"Yeah," I said, my voice bubbling with excitement. "Mercer."

"My God," he said softly, eyes rounder and bigger than tennis balls behind those glasses - same glasses as always! "Look at you now, Harlow ... "

"Grown up," I nodded, slightly pink in the cheeks.

"Beautiful!" he exclaimed, a hand thumping against his chest. "Stunning, Harlow - my good God, look at you! You're freakin' .. **wow**!"

The pink cheeks turned to a violent cherry red - I think I looked awfully similar to a tomato now. Damn, I'm a sexy bitch. _Hey Ryan, who's your date?_ This is Harlow, her mother was a tomato and her father was a raspberry.

Fuck my life.

"Thanks, Chippy," I said, embarrassed. "I think."

"Good God," he said, eyes still round as the moon. "Harlow, I didn't even recognize you! You look .. you don't look the same, nowhere near the .. the .. I don't even know what to say. You look _so_ different."

"Almost two decades will do that to a person," I nodded, grinning bashfully. "Chip, you look fantastic."

"God, look at her face," he whispered, poking Heather.

"I can see her face," Heather nodded. "It's right there, on her head."

"Where everyone's faces are," Katrina said calmly, prodding Chip gently in the side. "Stop _staring_, Chip."

Chip laughed gleefully, clapping his hands together merrily and ignoring the hard jab from Kat. "God, what a surprise! Harlow Mercer! Or rather, Harlow Vincent - it's been too long!"

I nodded, trying to fight the huge smile that was threatening to explode onto my now slightly less rouged face. In the middle of my inside spaz attack, I got a faint whiff of someone's Old Spice (Ryan's? God I hope so .. FUCK I LOVE OLD SPICE.) and was hit by a sudden and very obvious realization - Chip and I were surrounded on all sides by the Paranormal Research Society. God, how observant we were.

"Sorry," I said, looking with embarrassment at the small group surrounding us. "I used to know Chip .. back when I was just a little girl."

"You knew him?" Katrina asked interestedly. "How did you two even know each other, are you from Georgia too, Harlow?"

I shook my head. "No, I moved all around the States growing up. When I was young, I lived in a town called Newberry, and Chip worked as the crisis counselor at my Elementary school."

"I miss that town," Chip said wistfully. "So many great people .. and so many other great counselors too. I learned a lot from them."

"They were okay," I said, smiling. "But you were by **far** the _best_ counselor in all of Newberry, if I do say so myself."

He put a hand bashfully over his heart. "You always were quite the sweet talker! God, Harlow ... it's so fantastic to see you again! How .. how have you been? Haha!

I laughed. "Oh, I've been alright. Moved to Pennsylvania four years ago from Colorado. Settled into an apartment a couple minutes off of Campus - I'm studyin' Psychology."

"She's top student in her class," I heard Ryan say beside me. I turned to look at him and he grinned sheepishly.

Have I mentioned that I would like to screw this man silly? Oh I haven't? Well let me just tell you something. **I want to screw this man silly**. Sexy BEAST.

I smiled, and squeezed his pinky finger lightly with my hand. I hardly thought it would be appropriate to rip off his pants in front of all his students. Well. At least not **this** early in the game. So a pinky squeeze would have to suffice.

"Top of your class!" Chip exclaimed, face alight with joy. "You always were a smart cookie. God, am I ever proud of you ... hey, how's your Mum?"

The cheer vanished from my heart and it felt like someone had suddenly and inexplicably dug a rusty, dirty blade across my heart. the sensation sent icy cold, sharp pains all through my chest. I ignored them, the now uncomfortably familiar aches and shrugged indifferently.

"Dead," I said blandly, ignoring the pitiful stares from the others in the room. "Six years ago, about a week after my eighteenth."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Chip said, gazing at me curiously. "Or ... **am** I sorry to hear that?"

I smiled bitterly. "I think we both know the answer to that."

Chip nodded rather solemnly, but clapped a hand on my arm enthusiastically. "But look! You sure have found your calling, haven't you!"

I smiled - God knows the one person that would be more excited about my future career than me would be dear ol' Chip Coffey. "Psychology's a fascinating field - what can I say, deeply disturbed and unstable minds are my life calling, I guess."

That got a laugh from Ryan and the rest of the room, and I felt my heart beat a little faster as I sensed Ryan's warm body move closer to my own. Oh god, this man was a sizzlin' pile of beefcake. Mm mm.

God, I'm such a freak.

"No, no, not psychology," Chip said after the other finished laughing, grinning jovially at me. "I mean the Penn State Paranormal Research Society! You made one hell of a find with this one, Ryan!"

Ryan smiled, brow furrowed slightly in confusion - I was barely listening, all I could do was try my subtle best to sniff that old spicey goodness. "Yeah, she's absolutely great, most definitely. We were about to go and grab a coffee or somethin', actually - "

"Not girlfriend-wise," Chip said, with a wave of his hand, and judging by Ryan's sudden and slight stiffness (God, no you sick bastards, not _that_ kind of stiffness ... jeeze) I think I wasn't alone this time as I flushed with embarrassment. "Course you got one **hell** of a girl too, didn'tcha! I mean, you've _literally_ found the **best** medium in all of the country. Your luck astounds me, Buell, it really does."

Ryan frowned. "Medium?"

The old spice smell and warmness of his body didn't really seem all that important anymore - on account'a the fact that I think my heart had just stopped.

I could've stopped it, but my mouth wasn't working. I'd realized all too late what was about to happen, and I couldn't prevent it, couldn't stop it - couldn't do anything. I was trapped. I should've seen this coming, should've sensed the shit I was about to get myself into. Why hadn't I just kept my stupid mouth shut? Chip wouldn't have recognized me in a million years if I had just shut my stupid mouth.

"Harlow," Chip said, pointing at me - my mouth was open stupidly, but my brain couldn't do anything to fix what had just happened. Fuckity fuck fuck **fuck**! "Best Medium I think I've ever come across! You got yourself one hell of a catch with this one, Ry."

Chip rubbed my arm cheerfully, but I couldn't feel it - all I could feel was my stomach shrivel up into a prune. My face must've been white as a ghost. Ten years of hiding, lying and relocating, and it only took fifteen seconds to spill a life's worth of trouble.

"Harlow, you're a medium?"

**(Ryan)**

I would've laughed the whole thing off, but the look on Harlow's face told a very different story.

The tanned skin was snow white, the mouth agape and the eyes wide and terror-stricken. She looked at Chip, dumfounded, while he looked on, laughing gleefully. Even through the laughter, I could tell that this was no joke.

"You're a medium?" Heather asked, frowning slightly from her perch beside Chip.

"Slow on the uptake much?" Chip joked, throwing an arm around Heather's shoulder. "Just kidding, Heather! Why haven't you brought her along on an investigation yet, Ry! God, we could've had our little reunion _years_ ago!"

"I .. I didn't know," I said blankly, looking in complete shock at the beautiful girl right next to me. "You're a medium, Lo?"

"What, you didn't tell any of 'em?" Chip asked incredulously. "How can you be in the class but not have told any of them?"

"I didn't tell anyone," Harlow said softly, her face pained and grip on my hand now loose and ice cold. "I'm not actually **in **the Paranormal Research Society, Chip. I was just here for a date with Ryan."

I know this is irrelevant. But she had just confirmed this as a date. **HUZZ-FUCKIN'-AWE.**

And I mean, had I not just learned that the girl of my dreams could see dead people, I think my wiener would've exploded in excitement. But all lusty penis pangs were not exactly relevant at the moment - I couldn't feel anything but shock. Why hadn't she told me? Was she going to tonight?

"That's nuts," Chip said again, clearly not realizing he'd spilt one _hell_ of a fuckin' secret on her. "I figured this would be the first kind of club you'd join, Harlow! With a gift like yours - jeeze!"

"Yeah, well," she said miserably, regaining her composure slightly but the chalk white of her skin still harsh against the dark, suddenly lank appearance of her hair. "It hasn't exactly done me any favors .. listen, I should be going."

And with disgustingly fast, almost _inhuman_ speed, she flung her purse over her shoulder and was already halfway to the doors before I'd realized what happened. My heart clogged right up in my throat, I turned and followed after her quickly, my stomach sick with worry.

"Harlow," I called, the second I'd made it out of the classroom - she was already nearly twenty feet away from me, head down and feet almost a blur. "Harlow, wait."

She turned, her face returned to the smooth, tan complexion I remembered, but there was a serious sharpness and hardening to it now - a fury that was no longer just in those eyes, but written all over her face. Etched into every line. It was a look that dared to be fucked with - a practiced look, something that seemed like it had been used all too many times.

"Listen, Ryan," she said quickly, her voice again making a liar of that face - soft and anxious, she trembled slightly over her words. "I don't think this was such a great idea."

"I - no, I mean, listen ... I don't have a problem with it," I said dumbly, praying to _God_ she wouldn't just leave. "Harlow, it's .. it's not a big deal. I'm sorry he told, he doesn't always think .. really, Lo, it's not a big deal - "

"It is, though," she said softly, and I could see her hands shaking slightly. "This is something I've tried to hide for over ten years now - it's not something I really want to discuss, or get out, or .. or whatever. I just .. I can't talk about this, I don't have time, I don't have the energy to, I just .. I don't want this passed around campus. I .. I love Penn State."

"I won't tell anyone," I said, firmly. "Neither will any of the guys in the class - it's .. your secret, it's safe, Harlow. I would never tell anyone - honest. But just .. don't freak out, it was just a slip up. You don't have to leave campus or any of that, it's just a little secret that no one will ever know. I promise you, it will never leave these walls."

"I don't doubt that and I really do appreciate it, I know I can trust you and everyone back in that room," she said, looking very sadly up at me. Her face was still plastered with the practiced harshness and anger, but her eyes were hollow. "But I should have really known better than .. than to get involved - "

"With a ghost hunter," I said, no longer attempting to hide the discouragement from my voice. "I know."

"Paranormal investigator," she said quietly, more to herself than me I think. "That's not it, Ryan - you're a great guy, really - one of the best I think I've met in a very long time. Maybe ever? I never had a chance to find out - "

"You still do," I said, my voice thick with desperation. "Don't do this, Harlow - "

" - I deal with enough of the paranormal on a daily basis. I don't think .. I just don't think this is a good idea," she said, her voice choked. "Don't hate me, please Ryan, don't. I'm so sorry."

I nodded, looking very seriously at the girl in front of me. There was not embarrassment on that face, like I was so sure there would be. There was great sadness, great pain, and deeply set regret carved deep into the fault free surface of that beautiful face.

"I could never hate you," I said, and that was the honest truth.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan," she said morosely, and I could almost _feel_ my heart shatter at the sight of small, glistening tears well up in her eyes. "Truly. You're such a great guy, but I really really **really** have to go - this was a mistake."

I didn't stop her this time. I just watched her turn, walk quickly away and down the flight of stairs ahead of me. There was so much to do. So many cases I had to deal with, so many assignments to mark, so many insignificant production details to work through, so many people to talk to and things to discuss and assignments due - but they could all wait.

I was no expert in the area of love and loss - this was a fact. But I could say with quite confidence and certainty in the matter, that this horrible, lost and lonesome feeling that was set uncomfortably and seemingly permanently in my chest was the thing that everyone in this world feared the most:

this was heartbreak.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HANNUKAH, SEASONS GREETINGS, CONGRATS ON KWANZA - whatever you celebrate, i hope you're all super well! i'm so sorry about the twenty five days it took me to update - the fact is, i was busy bakin' christmas cookies and plowing my way through the malls and watchin' "it's a wonderful life". enjoyin' the holiday season, as i hope all of you fabulous, AMAZING reviewers were doing as well :)

i got some fab gifts, y'know. like a new bed set, so fab! a juicy couture purse, oh HELLZ yeah. the perfume i've been eyeing for months now! oh, and y'know ... THE COMPLETE FIRST 3 SEASONS OF PARANORMAL STATE ON DVD. *dies* SO HAPPY. how was/is everyone's holidays? did you guys get good stuff? tell me tell me! i'll tell you my favorite part of the holiday season this year ...

THE TEN REVIEWS I GOT FOR LAST CHAPTER.

holy. fucking. MOLY, you guys!! TEN REVIEWS. i'm at seven chapters or somethin', and i've got 30 reviews. that is unheard of! do you even have any idea of how amazing each and every one of you are? i would like to personally come to your homes, give you tins of cookies and baked goods, a big ol' sloppy kiss on the cheek and maybe a super sexy dance party as well. in fact, i just might. so who do i have to thank for these wonderful reviews? WELL, SANTA, YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN MAKES LISTS:

**SurriB:** i never write disclaimers, but perhaps i should start? DISCLAIMER: this story has the potential of making your neighbors think you're mentally disturbed and completely plastered. i'm so glad you liked it! whenever i get an alert that you've reviewed, i pee myself a little (TMI? too bad!). that's how excited you make me!

**kcollins:** hells YES you are a sexy beast! you are one hell of a loyal reviewer and i would like to go out on a date with you or somethin'. or y'know. at least just give you this: ":D" love it and you!

**voll3yg1rl:** because of your fab "get well soons", i am now 100740326 percent better! you are a miracle reviewer, i am impressed. you are an online healer, a cough drop in reviewer form, a tablespoon of buckleys on the fanfiction website. hearts to you (L)

**futureauthor**: gah, at least someone else understands! the frustration when you know EXACTLY what you want to write but can't do it is even worse than the feeling when you can't think of anything to write at all. effff. i loved your reviews! don't hate on sophie too hard, you'll like her soon enough, i promise ;)

**ashleymaria:** i hope your treatments are going better! stay safe and take care of yourself, bud :( nothing bad can happen ever, you're too adorable! thank you for the review, lovely girl! keep me updated on your condish if you don't mind!

**pureangeleyes:** you just found my story and love it? i just found your review and love YOU. we're twins!

**lindzxhatter:** YOUR REVIEW MADE ME POO EVERYWHERE, i was so excited! longest review EVER? i think it might just hold that record. and it made me lol. you remind me of me, except probably not as creepy. welcome to my story, please buckle up, keep your arms in at all times and have it's babies as soon as possible. thank youuuu! (oh and by the way, i was also stoked beyond belief when i found this board - who'dda thought they'd have a PSFF community, haha)

**Aria DeLoncray**: i'm so glad you like it! i've never actually seen two and a half men (i think it stems from my deep hate of charlie sheen), but i'm glad you like Nat! she's actually based off a girl i used to know ... unfortunately. that one slinky quote summed her up nicely .. something like "some people are like slinkies, they aren't really good for anything but you can't help but smile when you push them down the stairs". i love that one, haha. thank you for the review!

**sarah lalanne**: i gotta just gotta update, huh? merry christmas, newest reviewer! an update you want, an update you got. thanks for the review!

**TJToxic**: haha i'm glad someone else saw ryan a bumbling doof like i did! i see him as kinda like ... strong and masculine, but a complete dork around chicks he likes, you know? thank you for the review, i love you and your face and stuff. (L)

with all you new reviewers, i swear it's going to take me longer to write the actual authors note than the chapter. i love it!

i know there's a lot of loose ends in this chapter, all of the harlow & ryan stuff, the strange girl from chip's past, the horse faced shetland pony ex-girlfriend of ryan's, all of that! but don't worry - i will tie those ends together within the next four chapters, and we'll be rollin' along.

thank you, you darling darling readers. i adore you and appreciate you more than you will ever ever know. LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU,

happy hoildays !!

**love;** ellah!


	8. Deep Discontent For Koalas

**Chapter Seven**

King Of Crazies And Deep Discontent For Koalas

**(Ryan)**

"I'm an idiot. An absolute **idiot**. A completely, pitifully, stupid, _awful_ freakin' - "

"No, Chip. You're not."

Chip shook his head, lips pressed together so tightly they were starting to turn white. He had a death grip on his coffee cup, and a blankness in his eyes. The animated, cheerful and slightly in-your-face Chip-meister was gone, and replaced with a miserable, self-loathing replica I was extremely relieved that I had only met this one time. I preferred the high-rev Coffey, not the decaf that I was seated with now.

"You made a mistake," I said again, stirring my own cup of coffee absentmindedly. "It happens to the best of us, Chip. It was an accident."

"Thirty years in this profession," he said dejectedly, ignoring my comments. "Not once did I ever let anything slip. And now .. _this_. What a **fool** I've been."

I shook my head, too tired to try and argue anymore.

Chip and I sat in Brixton's Coffee Shop, about a five minute walk from the Penn State campus. I had always loved this spot, but no one else at PSU seemed to. I couldn't figure it out. There was never anyone else around - literally _every time_ I'd come in, there were maybe three other people in the entire building. A couple of library nerds huddled in the corners with their five foot stacks of books. Sometimes there were balding, thirty something year old '**future screenwriters**' tapping away annoyingly on their laptops across the room. All dull, lifeless shells of human beings - how _fascinating_. Welcome to Brixton's, home of the Nobodies. Would you like a side of Apathy with your Vanilla Bean Latte?

Ah, but I'm being mean. I guess it's not fair to me to take digs at them, though, is it? No, I wasn't a pot-bellied wannabe L.A. movie director, and no I wasn't a library nerd with no friends but a plethora of pimples. But I did hunt ghosts for a livin' and I _had_ just been completely blown off by a girl I had creepily stared at/daydreamed about for four years. Ahhhh. Right at home - maybe this is where I belonged afterall. I felt like I should go sit with the pimply girls, chat about how freakin' awesome retainers were and how ProActive Skincare Line was a load of bullshit. Maybe I could go chill with the bald man, talk about how awesome his protagonist's devil-may-care attitude was and let him tell me all about how close he was to gettin' a movie deal with Spielberg (Oh I can hear him now - "_Yeah! Almost got a movie contract with DONNY SPEILBERG. Whaddaya MEAN you don't know who that is?! That's Steven's cousin, didn't you know that? I bet you didn't know that. YOU KNOW THAT NOW, LET'S BE FRIENDS')_. I could order a round of espresso shots, get completely trashed with my new buddies. Wake up two hundred miles away in a dungeon-esque free Wifi cafe the next morning, with Pimple Girl one in a Spyro the Dragon costume on my left, Pimple Girl 2 in full on Inuyasha garb to my right.

... Yep. I think I'm just gonna stick with my mopey, miserable, horrifically depressed but good ol' pal Chippy.

Chip, who had come down to Penn State specifically to do two 90 minute lectures for our class, was completely beside himself with guilt. After Heather had gently (well .. _Heather_ gently, anyways) explained to him the seemingly severity of the secret he'd just let slip, he'd been riding high along this deep depression for a full day now.

Not only a shit day for _him_, but absolutely, in**definitely**, it had to be the longest day of my life as well.

It had been a full twenty four hours since I'd last seen or heard from Harlow - since anyone I know had, as a matter of fact. Heather had walked by her Psychology class today at dismissal, and she'd reported no sign of her. I didn't see her anywhere on campus - and trust me on this one, I looked **every** where. I sent Katrina to the on site gym, but she didn't see her either. Eilfie couldn't spot her in the libraries, and Serge hadn't even caught a glimpse of her in the lab. Josh didn't see her car in the faculty parking lot, not even once of the five times I begged him go out and check for me. Literally, it seemed like she had simply _vanished_ off of Campus: not **one** person I had spoken to knew of her whereabouts. Even Sophie, the girl Lo was practically attached at the hip to, wandered around the grounds alone - Heather and Serge had both seen her, as Harlow-less as I was. And as different as Sophie and I were, let me tell you - we seemed to be able to agree on one thing: the world was one terrible, gloomy and miserable place when there was no Harlow in your life.

I had literally been contemplating and fighting with myself **all** day and night over whether or not to go and try and talk to her. I knew if I sweet talked ol' Gladys at the Faculty Office, she'd give me an address, or a contact number, or _something_. In literally no effort at all, I could've found someway to get hold of Harlow. I probably could've even approached Sophie and asked if she'd heard from her - of course that would probably have ended with my balls being ripped off and shoved down my throat (See, I got this weird vibe from Sophie that she just, well .. didn't like me - well, and y'know, the glares and snorts and '_you are standing right in front of me but I'm going to pretend not to see you_' attitude I was on the receiving end of so very often were pretty good at supporting my beliefs as well).

But, as much as I wanted to, and as much as it broke my heart not to, in the end I decided against trying to contact her. _She_ was the one who walked out on _me_. She probably hated me. I don't know why she would. But she probably did. Or maybe she didn't hate me - maybe she just really, legitimately meant she didn't want anything to do with me anymore. For all I knew, she could be halfway across the country right now. She'd seemed hellbent on getting out of this place after Chip's slip-up. Regardless of her feelings towards me right now, all that mattered in the long run was that she was happy. And if that meant never seeing me ever again and forgetting that this whole, whirlwind last week had even happened - well.

That would have to be okay too, I guess. Right?

"I should try and contact her," Chip muttered, my attention snapping back to our little conversation. "She probably hates me, I don't doubt that, I wouldn't blame her .. but I can't leave Pennsylvania on these grounds. I can't. I have to apologize."

Christ, that makes two of us, Chippers.

"We should just leave her alone," I said quietly, tapping my coffee mug dully. "Give her time to herself. Let her cool down.

"She's had nothing **but** time to herself," Chip said desperately, but he shook his head furiously a moment later. "No .. no, you're right, Ryan. Just let her cool down. I guess that would work. No, you're right, you're right ... "

I wish I wasn't.

In front of me, Chip fiddled nervously with the napkin on his right. He scratched at it, tore at the corners, folded and flipped and fondled it. He tapped on his coffee mug compulsively. Squirmed and wriggled and moved around in his seat. I felt like I was having tea and biscuits with a two year old. I could literally almost _feel_ a vein in my forehead begin to pulse in annoyance - I bit my tongue to keep from snapping at him. What the hell was the matter with me? Oh right. _That_.

"I feel so terrible," Chip said, for what had to be the millionth time in our thirty minute coffee date. "So awful. Ryan, I ruined your date. I just **ruined** it, I'm so sorry, Ryan, I'm so so **so** _sorry_."

"Don't worry about it, Chip," I said in annoyance, through gritted teeth. "It's fine."

I think he could sense my irritation: he nodded solemnly and leaned back in his chair, motionless. Defeated. And if possible, I felt even worse than I had before.

I felt guilty about being so short-tempered with him - Chip was truly one of the sweetest and thoroughly one of the most good-hearted people I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. He shouldn't feel like he has to apologize about a little accident. I mean yeah, it _was_ true, if he'd just kept quiet and thought before he spoke, things wouldn't exactly be as morose as they were right now. In fact, I might even have a girlfriend. A **gorgeous** girlfriend. A gorgeous girlfriend who I'd be lying in bed with _right_ now. A gorgeous girlfriend who would be on top of me in bed _right_ -

"Fuck!" I snapped, hot coffee slopping all over my hand - it's what I deserved for being a raunchy, delusional perv, isn't it?

Chip handed me a napkin from the dispenser beside him. "Ouch, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, sorry about the mess," I apologized, wiping my hand gingerly. "Sorry .. I'm just .. I'm totally on the edge right now ... brain isn't workin' like it's supposed to."

"I've noticed," Chip said softly, bopping his thumb slowly against the edge of his mug - I could sense his hard stare, but I tried to ignore it. "Is it the Harlow thing?"

I nodded, putting a hand over my blotchy, burnt hand and pushing down against the scald. "I guess - _ow_ - so. I just .. feel kind of lost, I guess. It'll pass, just - _ow_ - gotta give it some time to sink in, I think."

"How long had you two been seeing each other?" Chip asked casually.

"We hadn't, really," I said, ignoring the throbbing in my hand. "She found my pager and notebook last week, I'd left them outside. She brought them to me and things sort of took off from there .. it was nothing serious, really."

"Still. You're pretty torn up over an eight day infatuation," Chip noted - it was the psychologist in him. He'd get me to talk and talk and talk, and I wouldn't realize until after just what information I'd blabbed. He was a talented man, this Chipster.

"It was more than just eight days," I said, accepting the fact that I'd have to come clean with good ol' Chip here. "Well, for me anyways. I've liked her for years."

"I thought you guys only just met eight days ago?" he asked.

"Formally," I explained. "I'd seen her everyday since she started going here. She just never really saw me _back_."

Chip nodded, lips down-turned. "I see."

"And now, she'll never see me again," I said miserably.

Chip shook his head, and leaned forward on the pale, wooden table. "Ryan, you don't _know_ that."

I looked at him incredulously. "I'm pretty certain on this one, Chip. She said she didn't want anything to do with me."

Chip raised an eyebrow. "Those were her _exact_ words?"

I shrugged. "Along those lines."

He shook his head. "That doesn't sound like the Harlow I knew."

I snorted, and raked a hand through my hair. "No offence, Chip, but you haven't seen her in nearly twenty years or whatever. People change every _day_. Nevermind twenty whole _years_."

"When I knew her," he said, ignoring me. "She was **the** most forgiving and compassionate person I had ever met. She'd seen such terrible things, but the girl wasn't hostile. She was forgiving, warm-hearted. Understanding. She was young when I knew her, it's true. But traits as pure as the ones she showed don't fade over time. This whole thing will blow over, Ryan. She just .. she probably just freaked out. Overreacted."

I raised my eyebrows skeptically. "I would've flipped my shit, too. I think that was an _under_reaction, to be honest. She told me it was a secret she'd tried to hide for over ten years. If someone spilled a secret I'd tried to keep for over a decade of my life, I would've flipped out a **lot** worse than she did."

Chip frowned, and looked guiltily down at his mug that was now cradled tightly in both his hands. I wanted to punch myself in the face - I was ashamed at how I was treating Chip.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, shaking my head. "I don't know what's gotten into me .. I don't mean to snap at you, I'm sorry Chip."

He shook his head glumly. "I deserve it."

"No," I said forcefully. "You don't, you made an honest mistake. Anyone could've done that. There was no inclination that she _wasn't_ a part of the Society. Anyone in the world would've thought the same as you. You were just excited to see her after all this time, that's all."

Chip looked at me wearily, but smiled. "You're a good guy, Ryan."

I smiled half-heartedly. "I guess."

"You are," he said. "You really, legitimately **are** a good person, Ryan. Harlow would be lucky to have someone like you in her life."

I poked gloomily at my now swollen, pinky-white hand. "She deserves better than me, Chip. I'm a ghost hunter. She's a Psychology major, top student of her year. Captain of the Volleyball team. I chase ghosts."

"And you help people who have lost all faith in the world," Chip said sternly. "You go and you save these people, you help them get their lives back. In a very peculiar way, that's true. But you do so much more than just chase around dead people for a living, Ryan. You restore faith, you clean up the shattered pieces of once full and wonderful lives. You fix what people think is unfixable - you do all of that, Ryan."

"You glorify it," I said stubbornly.

"I do **not**," he said angrily. "I'm not the only one who thinks that. Every person you work with, every person at A&E, every person in your class, every person who watches you on television - they think the same thing. And I guarantee you, Ryan, **guarantee**, that Harlow thinks that too."

"Thanks," I said unenthusiastically. "It's fine, Chip. Really. Everything happens for a reason, I guess."

I knew he was trying to make me feel better - and I knew I should've. I'd had support from everyone in PRS. All those guys, my good friends and the wonderful people I'd chosen to surround myself with. They all had done their best in the short hours following our fall out to lift my spirit, make me feel better. But it was really to no avail.

I had been so close, but missed out by just a hair. It had all happened so fast, but I had been so close to being with her - _finally_ - that I could almost taste it. The ridiculousness of this was staggering - I'd only even talked to the girl for eight fuckin' days. It's not like we had been in a long term relationship, or like we'd be friends for a long time or any of that. Eight days, and I literally felt my heart was ripped in two. How had a twenty-four year old volleyball player managed to hold such a big piece of my heart in such a small amount of time? It made no sense to me.

"Why does she hide being a medium?" I blurted out angrily, before I could even help it. Chip gave me a quizzical look. "I mean .. why is she hiding it? Why is she trying to deny it?"

He looked at me thoughtfully, tapping his cup steadily.

"There could be a lot of reasons," he said lightly. "We know that somewhere around 8,000 people in the United State alone claim to have some kind of Psychic ability. We can't even begin to guess how many more are out there. Some don't know they have a gift. Some prefer to keep it to themselves. And some - this is the category I think Harlow falls into - are just terrified of it, and prefer to not deal with it or accept it at all."

I frowned. "If she's had it her entire life, why would she be? Why is it such a big deal?"

"I can't answer for her," Chip said softly. "But ... I know that Harlow is very different than other people her age. Even than other mediums. She see's the paranormal like no other person I've ever encountered. She lives with it on a day to day basis. When I knew her when she was young, she feared it and she misunderstood it. If I'd been given more time to be with her and talk to her, I would've tried to teach her to manage her abilities. The fact is, I think she's finally been given a chance at normalcy, something I know for a fact she strived for a long time to have - you wouldn't understand, it's - _she's_ - a long story. Now, when something has threatened that easy monotony she has somehow grown accustomed to over the years, she completely and utterly panicked and abandoned the scene of the crime, you know what I mean? Get out before she was caught, wash her hands clean."

I stared at Chip intently, my heart hammering. I'd barely heard any of the last chunk of what he'd said - my mind was racing to catch up.

"Chip .. what do you mean she see's the paranormal like no other person you've ever met?"

Chip looked at me blankly, but I could almost hear the gears in his head shifting and grinding and spinning. He was coming up with a lie, with a cover up for his second slip in barely twenty four hours.

"Don't lie," I said quickly, lowering my voice. "Chip .. this is strictly confidential. Nothing said here leaves this table. But .. what do you mean?"

Chip opened and closed his mouth several times, before shaking his head slowly. "I can't .. I've already said more than I ever should have. _Again_. Just .. trust me on this one, Ryan. Harlow seems to have taught herself to _look_ like the picture of perfection. But that is very far from the truth, and it is nothing you should concern yourself with."

"I know, she's a medium," I said irritably. "That's reason enough to be a little off, I understand that. But what do **you** mean, she see's the paranormal like - "

"No," Chip snapped. "I shouldn't have said that. All that matters, Ryan, is that you don't give up on her. If you feel so strongly for her, and you are this lost and this depressed when she's not around, _go for it_. She won't hold a grudge against you forever. She forgives, I know it's been almost twenty years, but I know she's still the same per - "

He kept talking, but my body was ice cold. I think if it weren't for natural habit, I would've stopped breathing. Something had just clicked in the back of my mind, something terrible.

"Chip," I said blankly, looking at him very seriously - his mouth snapped shut. "Harlow's the girl from your story, isn't she? The one who was put in Foster care when she was six. The one who saw her sister die. The one who identified the dead man in the park. She's the one, isn't she? Harlow?"

Chip stared back at me, face white as chalk. Very slowly, very _painfully_, he nodded.

We sat in silence, staring at one another for nearly two minutes before he spoke again.

"I can't tell you anymore," he said hoarsely.

"I know," I said, my whole body numb.

"You can't say anything," he whispered.

"I never would," I said, and again, that was the honest truth. "Never."

Chip nodded miserably, and leaned back in his chair. Steam still billowed from his mug, but he paid no attention to it.

"Don't ever think you're not good enough for her," Chip said quietly, from across the table. "Harlow has seen too much, been through too much and heard too much in her short twenty four years. If anyone is deserving of anyone in this situation, it's her that deserves you."

I still don't think I believed it, but I'd come closer to accepting it.

**(Harlow)**

"Tell me, Harlow! Tell me, tell me, **TELL** me!"

I curled even tighter into a ball under my thick blanket. "Just go, Chick. Please, just _go_."

"No, I will **not**. Get out, get out right _now_, right **now!**"

I could feel pressure move all up the right side of my blanket, but I ignored it - I furled the sheets tighter around my hand and snuggled my face into the warm fabric.

"Harlow, you honestly think I'm going to get tired of this?" I heard Chick mutter through the sheets. "It's not exactly like I have plans. Or like I feel exhaustion. Frankly, I don't feel much of _anything_ anymore."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That worked twenty four hours ago. I let you curl into a ball for a full day and I didn't even bother you. I sat on my ass on your couch, and I watched the Program Listing channel for twenty three hours straight, just out of plain respect for you. Well, and because I can't use the fucking clicker. But! I didn't even try and spy on you or eavesdrop to see if you were crying, nothin'! I was a completely respectable dead person. Now, I want _details_. Why were you home so early? Why did you not come home with Ghost boy? Why have you not called him, why are you not answering calls from that bitch-face Sophie? Why! WHY WHY WHY **WHY.**"

"It's a long story," was all I could manage.

"A long story? Well, shit, why didn't you say so. I'm only **dead**, Harlow, it's not like I have any time to listen to a long story. No, I'm very busy pacing this shit-hole apartment for all the rest of eternity. Do you know how important it is, floating down a hallway? Clearly you don't. A long story indeed."

"Go away," I croaked.

"Harlow, come on," she said again, quietly this time. "Just tell me what happened. Did he bail out or somethin'? Was he mean to you? Did he hurt you? Did he bone you without your permission? I wanna help, Lo .. I might be dead, but that just means I don't leave fingerprints ... "

I laughed humorlessly. "I appreciate the concern, Chick. I just need to be alone right now. Sleep for the next twenty years. I don't know."

"You couldn't do that," she reasoned. "You have the appetite of an elephant - I'm surprised you haven't been out of bed to go eat already."

I sighed, and tucked my head even further into my cottony ball of warmth. "I'm not hungry."

I felt a slight weight on my left side now, and realized that Chick was hanging over my blanketed torso. I had never seen her be this consoling before.

"That's so weird," I muttered. "I've never had a ghost lie on me before."

"Like a fluffy cloud, huh," she said.

"Kind of like a cold, flat, baby, actually," I mumbled.

She laughed, and a cold swept through me - it was like dunking your entire body into a vat of ice water. I shivered.

"Switching sides, sorry," she said. "C'mon Harlow. What happened?"

I sighed, and threw my blankets off my head. There really _was_ no use in ignoring her. I touched my head gingerly, and shuddered - I could only **imagine** the monstrosity and complete ball of knotted _chaos_ that was my hair right now. Chick looked at me seriously, those dull, lifeless eyes piercing my own. I took a deep breath.

"Ryan knows I'm a Medium," I said, my voice embarrassingly choked.

Chick looked at me, face blank. "I thought you weren't going to tell him."

"I didn't," I said, wrapping my blanket tight around my chest. "There was a guy there that recognized me from a long time ago, he just kind of blurted out that I was a medium."

Chick shook her head, brow furrowed. "He - why did - wait ... what?"

I sighed. "It's such a long story, Chick .. "

"Again," she muttered irritably. "Dead girl. Not exactly concerned with time or lack there of."

"Fair enough," I said. "Alright. Well. Remember I told you about that old counselor I used to have? Chip Coffey?"

"How could I forget a name like that," she said, crawling noiselessly onto the bed infront of me, her long and pale hair glittering strangely in the light.

I smiled sadly. "I know. Well, when I came into the class room today for the date, he was there. I recognized him right away, the second I saw him, but he didn't recognize me - "

"That's because you don't look like an ass wart anymore," Chick said, in the insensitively delicate way she had down pact.

"I guess not," I said drearily. "Anyways .. I don't even know how it happened, or why I didn't think to just .. say nothing. But he started talking, and I started talking, and I was just so excited to see him, that I let my guard down for just thirty seconds, I swear, that's all. And he just said .. you're a Medium."

Chick nodded, eyes solemn. "Did the whole class hear?"

I shook my head, vision hazy. "Just Ryan and the five other people from the show."

I pulled my legs up close to my chest, and hugged them tightly. I dug my nails deep into my skin, eyes still stinging - but I refused to cry.

"What did he say?" Chick asked me quietly.

"Nothing," I said. "I said I had to go, and I walked out really fast, and he came running out after me."

"Why?" Chick asked sharply.

"He just told me it was okay and he wouldn't tell anyone, and .. no one would know, and .. I don't know. He was really nice about it," I sniffed.

Chick eyed me curiously. "Maybe I'm dumb. Or maybe I'm like .. retarded or somethin'. Or maybe my mind's all jumbled from being deceased and all. But .. I don't see the problem."

I looked at her incredulously. "You don't see the problem? You don't **see** the problem, Chick?! The problem is, now he knows I'm a medium!"

"Yeah, and he said he wouldn't tell anyone," she said, confused.

"But now .. now he knows my secret," I said, digging deeper and harder into my leg.

"And he won't tell anyone about it," Chick said again. "Or so he says."

"Chick," I said irritably. "I didn't want anyone to know about the whole Medium thing. You're a special case, since, well - "

"I'm dead."

"Yeah. Since you're dead. But .. I didn't want anyone to know about it. Because that's when all the problems start. First it starts with the acceptance, and the people sayin' stupid shit like '_oh, that's awesome, dead people, haha_' or other shit, like '_hey, Harlow, can you like .. see my Grandma or somethin'_. And then it leaves acceptance and becomes skepticism. People doubting me and questioning me, and thinking there's something wrong with me or like .. I'm a freak."

"Well," Chick said fairly. "You **are** a freak. But like .. a good freak. Not a bearded lady type freak. Just a talented, gifted freak."

I shook my head. "Says you. No one else thinks a girl who claims to be able to contact the dead is '_gifted_'. They think she's a whackjob. They want them admitted or thrown into a group home .. or, or whatever. And after that, that's when they make fun of you and hurt you and call you horrible names. That's when life gets really unbearable."

Chick rested a cheek against my hand, and a chill ran up my arm.

"Harlow .. don't you think you're taking this a bit too seriously?" Chick asked.

"No, no I don't think so," I said angrily. "Chick .. I'm gonna have to move. I'm going to have to leave. I need to be somewhere where no one - and I mean **no one** - knows about me. I just want to be a wallflower, that's all. I just want to be a nobody - it's so much simpler."

"You're gonna up and relocate just because Ghost Boy knows a secret about you," Chick said, shaking her head and pulling away from my hand. "Do you hear yourself talk or is it just a big loud roaring in your ears?"

I yanked my hand away from her and hopped off my bed angrily. My ankles gave a slight quiver - I forgot about that fact that I had eaten in nearly a day. My whole body was a little woozy.

"I'm not overreacting," I said defensively, my face reddening. "Chick .. you don't know what it's like. You haven't .. you haven't dealt with the things I've had to deal with. I can't do this again. I can't have this out. I just need .. a fresh start."

She glared at me from the bed, arms folded tightly against her chest. "You had a fresh start every 4 months for 14 years. How long have you been in Pennsylvania, Lo?"

"Four years and six months," I said quietly.

"And you could leave it all behind?" Chick asked me. "Up and leave the education you've gotten, the friends you've made, the apartment you rent all by yourself. All because one loser ghost chaser knows a secret about you, but refuses to tell because the doofus is **obviously** a fairly respectable whackjob who accepts the fact that you want your privacy."

My arms were crossed, but my foundation was breaking.

"You and I both know, Harlow, you can't just leave. You have so much going for you here. You have a life. A career path planned out. A bitch who you seem to love a pretty decent amount. A possible boyfriend that swore he'd keep your deepest, darkest secret forever. You have a sports team that looks up to you like a fucking **God**. You've been here, in Pennsylvania, longer than you've been anywhere **ever** in your life. You finally have a home, a place where you belong. You have all of this, and yet you're willing to just walk away from it because of one slip up from a guy who's named after salty potato thins and steamy caffeine beverages? Really?"

I looked at her seriously, but I could feel the tears spilling down my cheeks, hot and embarrassing.

"I just don't want him to think I'm a freak," I choked, arms falling down to my side.

Chick looked at me sadly, and hovered at lightening quick speed over towards me. I shook, my entire body, sobbing and sobbing. I could feel the cold ice of her arms around my back, but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't hug her back. I couldn't hug myself. I could just cry.

"He won't think you're a freak," she assured me quietly.

"W-what if he-e does?" I sobbed. "I _really_ like h-him, Chick .. I d-don't want him t-to think I'm w-weird or s-somethin'!"

"Harlow, he sits in dark basements with thermal cameras for a living, he's in no position to call you a Nutjob," she said, with that horrifically insensitive but unusually calming honesty.

"I r-really l-like him," I snuffled.

"And I'm sure if he's willing to keep a secret as big as yours, he likes you just as much as you like him," Chick said reassuringly, tapping me lightly on the back.

"No, he p-probably thinks I'm c-crazy, now."

"Again. _He's_ the one who wanders down dark hallways with tape recorders, not you."

"Not h-helping, Chick."

"Sorry," she muttered. "Harlow, listen .. you freaked out, but for good reason. I think this ghost doof really likes you. And .. maybe you should go and apologize for freakin' out. I've never met him, but he seems sincere enough. I don't think he's going to hurt you, or judge you, or ... or whatever."

"I just wanted him to like me for me," I said softly.

Chick pulled away and smiled benignly at me. "He **does**! He wanted to go out with you before the secret came out. And then AFTER he found out, he _still_ wanted to. And you gotta face it, Lo - this IS you. You see us. We see you. There is no changing that. And I think you've found a guy that can respect and appreciate that."

I nodded, still snuffling quietly. "I guess so."

"Harlow, look. He likes you, sixth sense and all. There's not a lot of guys that are still gonna want to hard bone you once they find out you chat about the best laundry detergents on the market with dead folk in your apartment. As much as this pains me to say it - and you know, it **kills **(no, no pun intended, bitch) me to say it! - I think Ghost Hunter boy maybe isn't such a bad choice."

I snuffled again, and looked at Chick seriously. My heart already felt a little lighter.

"He's a paranormal investigator," I corrected quietly.

"Don't push it," Chick said. "He's a hermit with a video camera, a recluse with a director's log."

"A paranormal investigator," I said again. "One that I really, **really** like."

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah .. go and patch your shit up with Ghostie, Lo. But maybe go and take a shower, first ... you smell like a crusty asshole."

**(Ryan)**

_The sudden movement of objects without deliberate intention in the presence or vicinity -_

_The sudden movement of objects without deliberate intention in the presence or vicinity -_

_The sudden movement of objects without deliberate intention in the presence or vicinity -_

"Fuck!"

I slapped my hands over my face in frustration - that was the seventh God damn time in twenty minutes that I'd reread a line over more than once. I was going to go ape shit, I swear to God.

"Okay, okay, focus Ryan," I mumbled. "_The sudden movement of objects without deliberate intention in the presence or vicinity the sudden - _GAHHHH."

MY GOD, MARKING PAPERS WOULD BE THE DEATH OF ME.

I threw my pen in a fury across the room, hearing it clank against the stone wall and bounce once, twice and a third time against the hardwood floors. I had literally three days until the next PRS class, and out of nearly forty essays that came in, I had marked about three of them.

I was **really** bad at this whole "_keeping on top of things_" thing.

"Why," I muttered. "Why do I give them homework? Stupid, stupid, **stupid**."

My mind, as I'm sure you know, has been a little frazzled as of late.

I'd said my goodbye's to Chip earlier in the day, and now I sat rather uselessly in my office as the sun crept slowly below the horizon and the light blue sky turned to an astral purple all around me. I couldn't even enjoy the beautiful night sky. Between these essays, the next lesson and the lack of Harlow in my life, nothing seemed so bright and wonderful anymore.

Tonight, I had blown off dinner with Serge and Josh at their favorite Pub off of state campus. Tomorrow, I had cancelled plans to go and see the 'Pennsylvania Street Concert Series' with Heather, and had bumped my dinner with Eilfie to next week sometime. I didn't want to be with people. I wanted to be curled in a ball in the corner of a room with my blanket over my head. I wanted to be sitting at Mom's house in a fleece onesie with an apple juicebox and carrot sticks. I wanted to be hiding out in a cardboard box fort with a little tear out of the corner that I used for my peephole. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be cared for. I wanted to **forget** this God awful week.

They say misery loves company, but that was entirely false in my case. Why would I want to drag anyone else down into this pit of mope? I was a useless pile of pity, at the moment. If it weren't for the rest of PRS, nothing would be getting done. If I pulled my entire team down into my horrific bout of self loathing, then we'd never get anything accomplished. It'd be a bit counterproductive, y'know? Thank God for Eilfie's slightly disturbing work ethic and Serge's fast-as-lightening computer skills. They were keeping this _whole_ organization together in my time of mope.

So instead of bringin' everyone else down, I'd decided it might just be my best plan to sit in my abandoned class room, in front of a pile of terribly dull and (in the majority of cases) disgustingly un-edited Parapsychology reports.

Oh God. Kill me now.

"_The sudden movement of objects without deliberate intention in the presence or vicinity the sudden movement - _NOPE. DONE. I AM DONE."

I yanked open my desk drawer, and threw the pile of reports into it, bumping it shut with my hip. If I hadn't been in such a rage over my constant re-reading of '_The sudden movement of objects without deliberate intention in the presence or vicinity' _(God **SMITE** that terrible sentence! Gah!)_, _I probably would've heard the soft clanking of her heels against the hallway's bisque colored tiling.

If I hadn't been so enraged with my classes lack of essay writing skills, I might've smelt the coconutty goodness _before_ it was right in front of my face.

If I hadn't been so busy fumbling with my piece of shit bag (Bless Serge's foreign heart, but those Russians just can't make a decent fuckin' briefcase to save their lives), I might've heard her soft, sharp knock on the large wooden doors.

Instead, I'm pretty sure she walked into the class room with the _awesome_ view of my ass in the air, as I was doubled over doin' up my briefcase and swearing like a sailor. Hey, I'll be the first to admit to ya'll, it's not my most flattering angle.

"Uhm .. Ryan?"

_CRACK!_

"Shit!"

So, my ass was in her direct line of vision (I'm sure she appreciated the view). My face was probably red as a tomato (and I probably had about twelve chins in this position too, so _freakin'_ **sexy**). I was swearing so profusely, I don't think I was even making proper swear words (because what in God's name is a '_Funkinshart'_? A mix of Fuckin Shat, Funky Shart? Fuck, I don't even know). And I had just hard smoked my forehead on the edge of my desk. AWESOME.

No wonder she bailed out. It wasn't that she was a medium, it was that I was just a large, horrendously unappealing ball of '_UGHHHH'_.

"Oh, no," she said, and I heard her heels click quickly towards me. "Are you okay?"

I stood up, knees a bit shaky but horrific embarrassment more than enough to keep me upright. "Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm alright. Bit dopey, but what's new, really?"

I got a good glimpse of her (because upside down underneath my legs hadn't really sufficed), and the tomato red of my face turned lava crimson. I'm sure I was the height of attractive - red face, goose egged and apparently struck dumb. Awe-SOME. Her, on the other hand? How is it, that no matter the place or the situation or the occasion, she looks like she just stepped out of a magazine? And not like .. 'Parents' magazine or 'Women's Weekly', I mean like one of those hot ones that guys purchase purely for the sake of putting in the bathroom for those lonely Tuesday evenings.

She slowed her pace, dark brown hair flowing behind her and boobs jiggling awesomely as usual. I meant .. eyes round with worry. Yeah. That's what I meant.

"You're not dopey," she said softly, hands fidgeting nervously along the dark denim of her jeans. "Looks like you got quite a bump, though."

I ran a hand over my forehead, and already felt a hard lump protruding out of my face. Shit, I did not think it was humanly possibly to look better than I did post Deskgate. But here I am. Lumpy too. Jesus.

"Oh, it's fine," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "Hey, if anyone asks, I didn't get it from smacking my head on a desk. I was .. thrown off of a motorcycle in a high speed police chase or somethin'."

She laughed, and reached a hand out to touch the bump on my forehead - her touch still made me pee my pants a little, I'm gonna be honest with ya'll. "Okay .. that's extremely plausible. Because you're regularly involved in high speed pursuits. And you drive a motorcycle. And if you were thrown off a motorcycle **in** a high speed car chase, the worst possible thing that would happen would be a goose egg on your forehead. Totally believable."

I flushed, but laughed it off. "Yeah .. you're right. Smacked my head on a desk it is."

She pulled her hand away slowly, and looked at me with a small, but very subtly sad smile on that beautiful face. I'd just noticed, but her eyes were a bit puffy, nose a little pink and voice a little wavery. The thought of her upset broke whatever was left of my heart, but ..

the possibility that she had actually been _upset_ over **me** sort of eased the shattered pieces of this ol' ticker.

"You're gonna be okay, though?" she asked, still eyeing the bump with concern.

"I'm fine," I assured her, leaning back lightly against this death trap AKA desk. "I'm always fine. How about you, Harlow? Are you, uh .. are _you_ okay?"

She looked at me intently, and to my surprise, shook her head. "No. I'm really not."

"What's wrong?" I asked, making a sudden movement towards her without thinking - my brain finally caught up with my body and I stopped mid-move, awkwardly and with my arm half out, half close to my side. It looked like I was engaging in a really fucked up version of the hokey pokey.

"I'm just ... " she started, pretending (God bless her) to **not** notice my retarded, half-completed hand gestures. "I'm just really, _really_ sorry, Ryan."

She looked up at me, those brilliantly green eyes looking intently into my own.

"Don't be," I said quickly, without hesitation. "You don't have a reason to be, Harlow. Not one."

She shook her head, running her hands compulsively against the side of her denim clad legs. "I do, though. I completely, ridiculously, overreacted, and I shouldn't have."

I shook my head. "No, you didn't. You .. you acted like anyone else would've in a situation like that. Don't be sorry, Lo. It's .. it's - shit happens, you know? Really. I'm sorry it happened to you."

She smiled sadly, shaking her head. "It was bound to eventually, bud. I'm just .. I'm glad it happened in front of you of all people."

I smiled. "I try to be as non-judgmental as possible .. kinda comes with the territory of ghost huntin'."

"Paranormal investigating," she corrected softly. "I just wanted to come and say .. well, say sorry. Sorry for being a total spazz, and for totally blowing you off, and being a freak of nature and all that fun stuff."

(I'm not gonna lie, I shit my pants a little when she said blowing me off - I was in half the mind to say '_No really, Harlow, it's cool if you blow me off - oh __**that**__ kind of blowing off, well no, don't do that_'.)

"Well first off, you're absolutely possi-tutely **not** a spazz," I laughed, but laughed more at the fact that I'm an imbecile and used the word 'positutely' - _FUCK_. "Second, you didn't blow me off (/hyperventilates secretly), in my opinion you had a pretty damn good reason for leaving. And third, you're definitely not a freak of nature. You're just a pretty cool chick who just happens to see dead people. Nothin' wrong with that."

She looked at me thoughtfully. "Really? You don't think I'm a complete nutjob?"

I shook my head and laughed. "Nowhere near. Have you not met the people I hang out with? Pagans, Immigrants, Psychic Vampires. I'm _pretty sure_ you're the most normal of the bunch."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I see dead people, and I'm the _normal_ one? Never thought I would see the day."

"It's shocking, isn't it?"

She laughed, and looked happily up at me. I tried to gaze cheerfully back down at her and those stupendous jublees of hers, but I think it came off as more of a "FISHEYE,OHANDNICEBOOBS" kind of look. I hope she didn't notice.

"Well, besides apologizing and securing my self-proclaimed spot as top freak in your group of friends," she said, and I couldn't help but laugh. "I actually just wanted to come and see if .. if you still want to go out with me sometime?"

Uh oh! I think I pooped.

"Yeah," I said/shouted/cried. "I'd love to, Harlow. I would absolutely love to."

She beamed at me. "You tell me when and where, and I swear I won't bail out this time."

"Are you busy tonight?" I asked, making a mental note to stop at home and change my more than likely soiled pair of pants. "Because I've actually given up marking these stupid essays. I can't get past the second sentence on most of them."

She looked a tad surprised at first, but nodded excitedly only a moment later. "Yeah, sure!"

"You're not busy?" I asked. "No volleyball or homework or Sophie?"

"Volleyball's tomorrow, I got loads of homework but I'm a bit of a procrastinator, and Soph is .. well, it doesn't matter. I'm not doin' anything ," she replied, hands clasped in front of her. "Well I mean, I was going to go back home, eat a Cup-of-Soup and watch Seinfeld. But this sounds a lot better, actually."

I couldn't help laughing at her honesty. Her beautiful, wonderfully round assed honesty. "That sounds like a pretty stellar evening, though. You sure you can break those plans to hang out with me?"

"Absolutely," she said, with a smile. "Unless it's the Soup Nazi episode. If that's the case, tough luck, Bucko."

"I understand completely," I said, reaching over the desk to grab my coat.

"Where do you wanna go?" she asked me, and if I wasn't hallucinating, I swear I saw her check out my bum. _Rawr_.

"Anywhere you want to," I replied, slipping my arms through the coat. "It's your choice."

"I don't care," she said simply, a small smile playing on those beautiful lips. "As long as I'm with you, I think I'll be fine."

I grinned, but for once in my miserable existance, didn't blush (WHAT, I KNOW RIGHT! _HUZZAH_.) "Chip's right, you know. You are quite the sweet talker."

She shrugged, but smiled nonetheless. "I'm not sweet talking. I'm just being honest."

I could've died right here, right now, a happy **happy** man. I literally had to fight back the urge to squeal like a six year old girl at a Jonas brother's concert - THAT'S how excited I was.

"Well, I know a really nice bakery that's open twenty four hours, right down Landon," I said with feigned thoughtfulness. "It's called Stella's. We can grab some food and a drink there, if you'd like?"

"I think that sounds amazing," she said cheerfully. "You go there often?"

"Not as often as I'd like," I said honestly. "It's pretty chill, none of my other friends really like it."

"Not the Pagan, Foreigner, Psychic Vampire scene, I guess," she said.

"It's a bit too bright, happy and American," I agreed with a laugh. "I hope you like it, though."

"I like everything," she said happily, but then furrowed her brow. "Except Koala bears. I do not like Koala bears."

I stopped and turned to her, a cheeky grin lighting up her face. "You like sloths, but you don't like koala bears?"

"Nope. Hate 'em."

"Alright. **Now** you're a freak."

"Because of my discontent for fluffy bears that live in trees?" she asked.

"Yep."

"Not because I'm able to talk about the weather with centuries old dead people."

"Nope."

"And you _still_ like nittany lions more than sloths?"

"Yes."

She looked at me, and sniffed haughtily. "Well, I think we've established who the _true_ freak is here."

"And it's not anti-Koala ghost girl Harlow, is it?" I asked, grinning.

"Nope," she said, smiling back. "It's Sloth-hating, loser lion, koala lovin', strange-choice-in-friends Buell that takes 'King of the Crazies' crown."

"Well, you'd have to be my Queen, then," I said with a smirk, and with the amount of courage a man with quadruple the size of my balls has, I took her small hand loosely and questioningly in my own.

"Naturally," she said easily, giving my fingers a quick squeeze of reassurance with her own soft ones. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Neither would I," I agreed.

Hand-in-hand, with Harlow as beautiful as she'd ever been and me in as deep of a pile of my own shit as **I'd** ever been, we left my classroom and moved on to bigger, better things. Cinnamon buns and hot chocolate at Stella's.

This day had gone from shit to Spec-fuckin'-tacular in ten minutes _flat_!

* * *

********

Authors Note:

*PRANCES ABOUT PRANCE PRANCE PRANCE* AHHHHHH, OOOOOHHH, MYYYYY, GODDDDDD. SPAZZSPAZZSPAZZ.

You guys, oh my sweet lordy lordy. You are the most amazing bunch of people I have ever met in my entire life. ENTIRE LIFE. EVER. ENTIRE. EVERTIRE. WHATEVER. 17 reviews since December 25th. That's like .. 20 days or somethin', maybe a little more. And I have received 17 of the most awesome, stupendous, sexy, crazy, long ass, pant's peein' awesome reviews in the history of the worlddddd! YOU LOVE MUFFINS, oh my goodness. I want to take all of you to Disneyland! I hope the 5.42 in my bank account will cover it. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you tooooo:

**lindzxhatter: **your crazy/teeny fangirl moment had me teeny fangirlin' it out too! oi vey, look at you, you guessed correctly! harlow = chip's story girl. why are you so brilliant, so awesome, long-assed reiewful? have you had out child yet? i would like to call it lindzxhatter and make it paranormal state onesies. YOU ARE WONDERFUL.  
**SurriB: **oh my original, one true love! those directions to your parents house made me pee my pants aunt lives out on the prarie, and whenever we go to visit her, her directions are like "okah, so wen youz pass them brown cows, you gunn see sum barbie wired fenced. you gutta do righ' on pass, keep un drivin and then yew gun see this oak tree, itz gunn bee rull big." and so on, lolololol. i love farm folk! but i love you much much more, ahah!  
**Aria DeLoncray: **your name makes me jealous, i think i'm gonna change my pen name to "Aria is Better Than Ella", got a nice ring to it, i think. thank you for the review, bud!  
**PureAngelEyes: **aka, my twin! your review warmed my heart, in a nice way, not like a "oh god i'm having a heart attack call 911" way. thank youuuu! you rock my fanficcy world!  
**futureauthor62: **YOUR REVIEWS FREQUENTLY MAKE ME SQUEAL, you've been like ... totally dead on about this story. you talented, sexy piece of author! i adore you! you are the second person to correctly guess harlow's 'true' identity. love it, and love you! thank you thank you!  
**TJToxic614: **dude, heather is gonna have to be BOTH our life partners. i adore the taddster! you asked for buell charm, AND BUELL CHARM YOU SHALL RECEIVE. your review made me squeal and roll around in a ball with excitement - can we be BFFz 4evrrr?  
**Sarah's Boo: **YOUR FRANTIC REVIEW MADE ME FRANTICALLY GIGGLY - i love you, new reviewer! please stay with me forever!  
**ashleymaria: **you just might be on to something! ;) i hope you're feelin' better! and no no, i'm not the best, YOU'RE the best!  
**kcollins: **YOU HAVE LIKE ESP, i am so proud you knew it was her! you are wonderful with your constant reviews - i would like to personally bear hug you and make you some maccaroni for all your loyal reviewing. thank you!!  
**microcheese: **AKA luna! love your name, please switch with me? and you're right! thank you for reviewing, i do love me some fantastic, luna-rific new reviewers!  
**aangs fangirl1214: **I AM OFFICIALLY AN 'AANGS FANGIRL 1214 FANGIRL'. you're a new reviewer AND your review was ass long and i loved loved LOVED it! thank you so much, you're so fabulous!  
**Purple With A Purpose: **you should change your pen name to AWESOME with a purpose, thank you for the new review! and i agreed, ryan trumps all other paranormal investigators. let's make "WE (L) BUELL" shirts and follow him around the country. i'm downsies if you are!  
**annieDUHH: **thank you thank you thank you! i absolutely love you and your review!  
**ferret assassin nin: **your review made me laugh SO hard, bahaha! it reminded me of one of those cheesy soap opera drama commercials, i loved it! and i loveeeee you! thank you muchly for the new review, it's muchly appreciated :)  
**Its..: **i'm so glad you like it! i'm going to try and update more often, just for you lovely readers. thanks for reviewin', you rock my socks!  
**LilGirl23: **an update you wanted, an update you got! thanks so much for the review!  
**Ceceila: **the fact that you spelt sniffles like "shnyffles" instantly puts you in my 'love forever' books. here is an update, simply cause you incorporated shnyffles, your crack addicted auntie and "*"s in your review - you make my heart blush, if that's even possible. THANK YOU!

i swear to god, you guys, the author's notes are taking me almost as long as the actual chapters, lololol. i love it! i could never in a million years thank you enough for giving me such excellent feedback, i really, really, really **truly** appreciate it, you are the most fabulous bunch of people in the world!

now, i'm going to try and update a lot quicker this time around - i feel like i have a pretty steller outline for the next chapter so i'm stoked! oh, and i was just wonderin', but how do you guys feel about chad? i was thinkin' about how i was going to add him into the story, but yeah .. i've kind of found a new fondness for him, but i know a lot of people aren't too stoked with him. lemme know whatcha think! now, i'm going to go and eat an entire bowl of popcorn and have a one man paranormal state marathon. i love sundays :D

THANKS AGAIN TO YOU LOVELY REVIEWERS. you make my world turn round. have a fab week you guys!

**love;**ellah!


	9. PeterPan, Acne and Some Serious Smooches

**Chapter Eight**

Peter Pan, Acne and Some Serious Smooches

**(Harlow)**

"So, are you from around here?"

He shook that beautiful head of his, cupping his mug gently. "Born in Corry, Pennsylvania and raised in Sumter, South Carolina. It's where my Mum's from. How about you?"

I smiled, trying to figure out the least awkward way to answer this. "Around Rhode Island, I think."

I think I _hard_ failed at the whole 'not-awkward' thing.

He nodded slowly, looking at me with a slightly quizzical look. "You think?"

I shrugged. "Not entirely sure, but my birth certificate said Rhode Island. Westerly, I think."

He smiled. "I went to Westerly once, I was probably ... five, six. Don't remember it, but my Mum's got a gazillion pictures up at home of that trip. I'm pretty sure that was the year that all I wore was a Peter Pan Halloween outfit to every school, casual, family and outdoor function there was, just a phase I was going through ... I wish she'd burnt those photos. And I wish I hadn't just told you that."

"I'd love to see those," I laughed, holding my own steamy cup tightly and pretending not to notice the beet red of his dimpled cheeks. "I don't remember much of Westerly, but I've seen pictures and it looks beautiful. Not nearly as beautiful as you in a small, spandex Peter Pan outfit, but almost."

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably - oh, his cute little awkwardness! Honest to God, guys, my heart beat a mile a minute for this loveable little dork seated in front of me. "It is beautiful. Westerly, not me in a sparkly celery colored jumpsuit," he clarified, blushing slightly. "You should go back one day - just visit. It is where you were born, after all. Might be nice to check it out?"

HAHAHA FUNNY JOKE. Hell _fuckin_' **NOOO** I wasn't goin' back to visit! Fuck that, fuck Westerly, fuck birthplaces.

"Maybe one day," I said brightly, feigning thoughtfulness as best I could (but in my head, I was actually thanking GOD he couldn't read my mind - can you imagine? He would know all about my distaste for Westerly, my ragin' Buell libido and dirty thoughts about him in skimpy Peter Pan outfits - oh _damn_). "So, if you were raised in Sumter, what made you transfer all the way to Pennsylvania?"

"My dad," he said, leaning forwards slightly - oh Christ, I could _smell_ the old spice wafting off that gorgeous bod - **hold me back, **I WILL POUNCE. "He's a state trooper in Corry."

"That's a pretty good reason," I said, crossing my legs tightly under the table (maybe if I smoosh the ol' vagoogoo, the raunchy thoughts would cease to fill up my brain? ... lemme see ... oh, nope - definitely _not_). "Do you - _ow_ - talk to him a lot?"

"Eh," he said, with a shrug of those disgustingly manly, firm shoulders - _rawr_. "Little bit every now and then. My Mum raised me, so I'm closer to her and her side of the family, but I see my Dad once every couple of months."

"That's nice," I said earnestly, feeling a slight pang of jealousy at the words 'close' and 'family' - God damn you, scorned and loveless heart! _GOD DAMN YOUUUU!_ "It's good you still have some kind of relationship with him."

"What about you?" he asked, looking thoughtfully at me with those big, gorgeous brown eyes - they were the color of chocolate, I swear to you - I wanted to melt his eyes and slather them all over my body. Is that weird? ... Don't answer that. "Were you closer with your Mum or your Dad?"

Oh God, and it _begins_.

I took a hurried sip from my steaming mug of hot cocoa to try and bypass answering that question. Smart, huh? I'll just sit here and hold steaming chocolaty beverage in my mouth to avoid answering the whole 'Fam Jam' topic. Ugh.

Stella's, the bakery Ryan had suggested, was _adorable_. It was quaint, that much was true. But it was charming. It was covered, wall to wall, with all the kinds of baked goods you could ever have imagined. Loaves of bread, bags of donuts, boxes of steamy, homemade apple pie's, rolls of cinnamon buns, bagels, raisin bread. Pound cakes, birthday cakes, wedding cakes, pudding cakes, bunt cakes. Shelves and shelves of cookies - oatmeal, M&M's, sugar, peanut butter, chocolate chip, gingerbread, gingersnap. The place reeked of warm, doughy goodness. Had I not been with this horrifically attractive twenty-something year old man sitting directly across from me, I probably would have salivated all down the front of my shirt.

I AM **SOOOOOO** ATTRACTIVE.

To save myself the embarrassment of Ryan thinking I was a total man (which, hey, when it comes to eating - watch out, _bitches_!), I had attempted to seem like a slightly dainty young lady with a light appetite and a delicate, slightly _refined_ approach at the whole 'eating' thing. Guys liked that, right? I was pretty good at it, too - well .. I still used my fingers, but I **did** put a napkin on my lap - that's gotta score me some brownie points or _somethin_', right? It's not that I was trying to hide who I really was with him - I mean for God's sakes, he already knew I saw dead people. But regardless. I didn't think ordering an entire pan of Vanilla Pudding Cake to yourself on a first night out with a guy was really .. _giving a good impression_ (what, you doubt I can eat it all? Bring it!)

God, do I ever digress.

Anyways. After pretending like one cinnamon bun would suffice (Oh God, I can not even **begin** to explain to you guys how badly I wanted to just _jump_ that counter and stuff my face full of every warm, gooey thing I could lay my hands on - _ughhhhsoogood_), Ryan and I both ordered Stella's 'Famous' double mocha steamy hot chocolate and started our slightly awkward, but up until this point completely innocent small talk about school, friends, extra-curricular activities, and all that boring, albeit _normal_ first date topics.

But alas - now, we delved into no man's land - the horribly awkward, unfairly pathetic, slightly tragic and _so-bad-it-was-almost-humorous_ family story time.

Well, for me anyways.

"Who was I closer to .. well," I said slowly, wishing there was some sort of food on the table I could stuff into my mouth to bide me just _one more_ second. "I wasn't really close with either of them. My biological father died when I was just a baby, I don't remember him, and my Mom and I weren't exactly ... close. She died a couple of years ago, anyways."

Ryan nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," I said automatically, then I blushed in slight embarrassment. "I mean .. it's fine. She wasn't really a huge part of my life, anyways."

"Yeah," he said. "It still sucks, though. But y'know, you turned out pretty fantastically anyways."

_Oh God, I want your weiner, fine Sir._

I smiled bashfully. "Oh, jeeze, you're makin' me blush."

He grinned back at me. "So tell me - were you always the kind of student you are today? Y'know - best dressed, 4.0 GPA, Teacher's Favorite, A+ student, sports team captain, Queen Bee and all of that high school goodness?"

The thought of me with some fancy, dorky sash with a million friends and followers, waving like the queen, was enough to make me laugh. "**Definitely** not. Oh _God_, Ryan, if you only knew."

We both laughed, and he looked at me thoughtfully. "I find it hard to believe."

I grinned. "Honest to God truth, I'm just a really big dork who happens to be sort of good at volleyball. I was nothin' special in high school."

Saying that word almost made me gag, **ugh**. _High School_. TERRIBLE WORD. BURN IN HELL, HIGH SCHOOL.

Ryan shook his head in disbelief. "That's probably the biggest shock I've had since finding out about Santa Claus."

I laughed. "It's true though! Honestly, I traveled around the country so much, I never really got time to settle in to any one specific place before I had to move again. And up until about the age of 17, I was the most pathetic, homely lookin' thing you could ever imagine, so no one really wanted to be my friend, anyways. And there was never really anytime to get to know me, so no one really bothered. I was just a little, scrawny library nerd who's best friend was the school's librarian."

Ryan's '_awwed'_ sympathetically - that sympathy made me want to jump him from across the table. Good God, that fox.

You show me sympathy, Ryan Buell? I'll show you my TaTas.

Oh God, this man makes me such a mind whore. Shut up, skank brain, shut **up!**

"It's okay," I assured him. "I'm fine now. Eventually I figured out how to hit a volleyball, my acne cleared up and I filled out a little bit. You don't stay a wallflower forever, I guess."

"You're definitely no wallflower now," he said, and if I wasn't being too smug or cocky, I _swear _to you guys that I saw him take a quick, nervous little peek down at my girls.

KEEP LOOKIN', BUELLY.

Oh shit. I'm sorry, you guys. It's his Old Spice, it skankifys me.

"So why'd you choose Penn State?" he asked me, and I felt a little bit of shock at the earnest interest in that handsome face. I don't think I'd ever been out on a first date with a guy that legitimately gave a shit about something other than my honkers - oh, he's such a sweetie!

"I had never been through or lived in Pennsylvania," I said simply, tapping a thumb lightly against my mug - my brain was screaming at me to shut up, but my heart told me to keep going. "Out of the fifty U.S. states, I had lived in 47 of them by the time I was 18. I just wanted to go somewhere I'd never been."

Heart trumps brain - _always_.

"Forty seven out of fifty," he whistled, shaking his head with disbelief. "That's .. ridiculous. I'd barely left South Carolina when I was 18."

"Believe me," I said, with an embarrassed little laugh. "I wish I'd been the same."

There was a definite lull in the conversation, which made me realize (rather tragically, might I add) that there really was no avoiding it - the topic of my shitty family and even (if humanly friggin' possible) shittier '_gift_' would have to be discussed at some point if I wanted this relationship to go any further.

Oh _sigh_.

I could sense it, simply from his body language and hesitation, that he was trying his best to avoid the topics he could tell weren't exactly the easiest ones for me to talk about. I didn't even know it was possible, but he made my heart even warmer with that careful, gentlemanly courtesy. I don't know how, but there was some part of me that just knew - _knew_ - that he would never, not in one million years bring up the awkwardness that was my personal life. So it'd have to be up to me.

Basic facts, I'd decided. As we drove to Stella's, rambling about the most random, unimportant shit ever('Strange weather we're having, eh?' **or** 'Yeah, I've never seen a 711 being built either, how weird!' **or** 'I'm allergic to cats' **or** 'Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup is my favorite soup besides Tomato' - total nerds, aren't we?), I had gone over how this date would go in my head about a million times. In my ideal situation, we'd be able to avoid all the awkwardness, skip over my family, ignore the fact that I was chillin' with the live folk _**and**_ the dead - he'd think I was cute, would like me almost as much as I liked him and then he'd totally propose right here, right now with a big 30235 pound diamond ring or somethin' - isn't that every girl's dream? Or maybe I just watch too much TV. Hm.

Anyways! I had to face the facts - none of that would ever happen. For five simple reasons. See, first and foremost - I'm a _terribly_ awkward person. Straight up, guys, not even lying - I don't know how to initiate _**shit**_, I'm rather hopeless in that field. Secondly, talking about my family? Well .. I'd rather have done a naked ChaCha dance routine in the middle of the restaurant than bring up the hell that was my childhood. Number Three: regardless of what Ryan seemed to think of me, in actuality I was an awkward, gangly lookin' chick with no real attractive, alluring features. I don't know who he thinks _he's _kiddin' - I was plain, plain, _plain_. And it was my simpleness in outward appearance that only _intensified_ my lack of real confidence on the inside. Which could eventually prove to be quite a problem, don't you agree? Numero quatro, there was no possible way - **none** - that Ryan could be as fond of me as I was of him. There just wasn't - nuff said. And reason number **five** as to why my ideal little date with the Buell man would never ever work - frankly, a late night cini-bun snack with a paranormal investigator _isn't_ the best time to brush off a conversation about my Mediumship. If anything, I'm pretty sure it's the best and _only_ time to discuss it, wouldn't you think?

So. Three (or rather, more like five) strikes, I'm _out_.

But really, what did I have to lose? Oh yeah. Y'know. _Besides _this beautiful man seated in front of me.

Here we go. Awkward paranormal talk, **commence**.

"I don't know how much Chip said after I left," I said, staring down at my mug (like lookin' at it would somehow zap me somewhere else, some place in time where I didn't have a dead chick as a room mate and Ryan and I were married or hard knockin' boots, or somethin'). "But there's probably some stuff you should know .. about me, that is."

I peered up to see him looking at me intently, holding his own half-empty mug rather tightly in this broad hands.

"Harlow," he said slowly, very seriously - that monotonely beautiful and calming voice warming me right down to my bones (_God_ how I loved when he said my name). "I don't .. I don't want you to think you have to tell me everything. I respect that there are some things that are secrets. It's unfortunate that I found out in the way I did about your .. gift. But just because I know, it doesn't mean I'm gonna demand you tell me everything .. some secrets are are meant to be kept. I can respect that."

I looked at him for a moment, but I couldn't help the smile that split across my face. "You're a very wonderful person, Ryan. Didja know that?"

He blushed, and shook his head in embarrassment, resting his hands palm down on the table in front of him. "I just don't want you to feel like you're obligated to tell me things you don't necessarily feel comfortable telling me about ... y'know?"

I nodded, pushing my hair behind my ear - oh Ryan, you thoughtful son of a bitch, I would like to straddle you and your gorgie bod sometime in the near future, you know that? "I know. But there's some stuff you just gotta know, I think .. I mean, things you _should _know if you - like me, that is - want to move further, be better or closer friends, or .. or _more_."

He nodded in agreement, and I felt my tummy flop happily - I'd seen the ghost of a smile on the beautiful face, I swear I had, right after I'd said 'or more'! **HAH**. We on the same page, Buelly Baby or _what_!

"That is, _if_ you wanna know," I said quickly - by all means, I could've been reading the expression all wrong .. but I somehow, kinda doubted it :). "By all means, I'm not forcing you to listen to the boring drabbles of my childhood - "

"I would love to hear," he said, voice quick but soft: he was looking me dead in the eyes, very seriously and very intently. "Truly, I would. If you trust me enough to tell me, I'd be honored to hear."

"I trust you," I said complacently.

"Then I'm all ears," he said, scooching his chair in a few inches - we were only feet apart now, I could see every eyelash, every freckle on that alarmingly handsome face. Oh _baby_! "Whatever you need to say, I'm listenin'."

His suaveness almost frustrated me. Seriously! How can you be so calm and have such impressive ease on a first date? I was a ball of frickin' nerves, and Mr. Cool over here was handling everything like a seasoned pro. God, I was such an embarrassment sometimes. Chill the fuck _out_, Harlow!

I smiled despite the mini self-loathing party that was raging on in my brain, and put my own freakishly miniscule hand on top of his large, rough one - I could still feel the warmth of his mug radiating up through his hands. "Well before the boring shit - which I swear won't take long. Honestly. Can I ask you a question?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, leaning even further forward.

I'll be damned if I'm the only one on this date that's being a horrifically embarrassing, lumbering ball of awkward! Let's see you keep your cool _now_, Mr. Sly Fox:

"Are you really single?" I asked, biting my lip questioningly - I'd seen this done on TV a million times. Apparently, a lip bite is ridiculously alluring.

I know. I don't get it either.

He looked confused at first, but then nodded, brow furrowed and corners of his mouth twitching erratically - smile for Mama, babycakes! I know you_ wanna_. "Definitely. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged, and pet his hand gently. "I just don't understand it, that's all."

I think I was going to make it a game - 'How Many Times Can You Make Ryan Blush In 5 Minutes?'. For reasons that were far beyond me, I'd like to think I held the World Championship belt for that one.

**(Ryan)**

Oh _God_. I swear, if there was like, a ... 'How Many Times Can You Make Me Blush in Ten Minutes' game or somethin' out there, Harlow would be World Champ by now.

I laughed, and shrugged my shoulders awkwardly. "Oh, pff - y'know, it's .. yeah, haha, it's pft - hm, yeah - hah."

Pretty straightforward, AMIRITE?

She grinned, and pulled her tiny, warm hand off of mine - I could've cried.

"I'm sorry, bud," she apologized. "Didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Oh no," I assured her, blushing profusely. "No, you didn't at all, it's okay. It's .. it'sah good question. Yep."

Oh God. Kill me now, end this date of pure, Buell-induced misery. First I told her about my Peter Pan outfit phase. And now I've congratulated her on a personal question about myself well asked. Seriously. Strike me down now.

She brushed a stray piece of that chocolaty brown hair out of her face, and took a deep breath. "I figure .. well, I guess I should be honest. Completely honest. I really like you, Ryan. It's so weird, I mean .. I only met you like, barely even a _week _ago. But .. I like you."

NEVER MIND, DON'T STRIKE ME DOWN. OH GOD, LET ME **LIIIIIVE**!

I swear, my heart stopped and restarted itself after those words left her mouth - holyfiggin'moly! Oh my Lord! Oh sweet Jesus! **BEST. DAY. EVER.** In what had to be the biggest shock in the history of the world, I managed to keep my face relatively well composed (although it likely looked like I had a severe case of lockjaw, but what else is new?).

"I really like you too," I managed to choke out - it was hard, y'know, since I almost swallowed my own frickin' tongue. "Like .. a lot. A _lot_. Haha - y'know, it's .. yeah, like - heh, pff, yeah .. heh."

My eloquence was staggering.

She beamed over at me - God, I wish she wouldn't do that. Not that I didn't enjoy her smiles, don't get me wrong. It was just the fact that her face was alarmingly stunning enough as is - I _really_ just didn't need that brilliant, wonderfully sexy, inhumanly beautiful smile adding to my already horrible case of Harlow induced IBS. She could've leaned across the table with a knife, stabbed me and pulled and twisted out my heart, and it would _still_ be beating faster than ever. What she did to me, I don't think she'd ever know ...

"Well, I'm glad we're sorta on the same page," she said, clasping her hands loosely in front of her. "To be honest, I don't want to start a potentially good thing off with a bunch of secrets. And .. yeah."

There was another slight silence between us, and I watched her tighten her grip on her cup absentmindedly. I figured I could start this off - why not? Better me than her, right?

"So," I said, her face snapping in surprise to look up at me - her eyes were round as saucers. "Forty seven states out of fifty in eighteen years .. that's pretty impressive."

She smiled, rather thankfully, at me and nodded her head. "Yeah, not a lot people can say they've done that in a lifetime. The fact is, uhm .. well from about the age of six to eighteen, I was in the United States Foster Care System."

I nodded, setting a solemn frown on my face - I really _really_ liked Harlow, and as much I as I wanted to start this thing off on a good foot as well, I had _sworn_ to Chip that I wouldn't let on that I knew about her childhood. So a secret it stayed - I had to play my part, and I had to play it well. "I'm really sorry about that."

"As am I," she said softly, those plush lips cast into a faint but clearly evident frown.

"Were you placed in there because your parents passed away, or .. ?" I asked.

She shook her head. "My biological Dad died young, I was only one when he did, and my Mum passed away about six years ago - I had just turned 18. I won't go into the details of why I was put in the System, but a main one was the fact that my Mum had a pretty severe, long history of drug abuse."

I nodded. "Is that why you moved around a lot?"

She nodded, running a finger slowly around the rim of her mug, avoiding my eyes like the plague. "A lot of unpaid debts, trouble with the law and tax problems - a mix of a bunch of stuff. I didn't know at the time that that's what it was, but the older I got the more information I was able to get out of my case workers. Anyways, she moved us around the country a lot. Probably once every four or five months we'd be in another state or on the opposite end of one."

"Was it just you and your Mum?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. She got married a year after my real Dad died, and then her and the new guy, they divorced, and then she met another guy and the two of them got hitched a month later in Vegas. We were livin' in Nevada at the time. But it was always myself, my sister Brody and my brother Kingston. Brody was three years older than I was, Kingston was five years older. Brody's biological dad was different than mine, so was Kingston's. We all had the same Mom, but different father's."

She looked at me, curiously, but I said nothing - I'm no psychologist or anything, but even _**I**_ could tell it was sort of a relief for her to get it off her chest. She plunged on.

"We were the three youngest of our Mum's seven children, actually - all the elder siblings had died by the time we came along, and eventually, so did Brody," she said, the story was horrifying, but her voice was tough and void of any real emotion.

I hadn't heard of the four other siblings, only of her brother and sister. Chip had never mentioned the four others. Maybe he didn't know about them? Either way, my heart broke for her, but my sympathy was clearly useless - Harlow herself showed no real emotion as she recounted the memories of her long lost siblings. Just stoney, indifference on that fabulous face. It startled me, I'm not going to lie.

"I'm sorry," I said again, for what had to be the millionth time in twenty minutes.

"Really, don't be," she said softly. "I didn't know any of the older ones, they were all under two. Birth defects, SID's. It's dangerous, having children when you're hooked on so many different things. I hadn't met any of them."

She raised her mug to her lips, brilliant eyes avoiding my own. I had to seek them out - they weren't focusing on me, they were preoccupied, distant. I wish I could reach over and train them on the here, and the now. On me.

The bright and cheerful girl I'd grown to adore was nowhere in sight - it was this strange, distant and cold shell. How bizarre it was, to see this beauty so broken. I'd never seen the damage before, but I did now. Even after I found out she was the girl from Chip's story, I still had trouble believing it. This happy, wonderful, brilliant and content girl, a victim of the Foster care system? Never. But the stiffness in her body now, in _this_ moment, the way she told me her story like a monologue, not like a life she'd personally lived and the way she stared through me, around me, past me, like by avoiding me she'd be avoiding the truth - it made the whole thing easier to believe.

"So for the first six years of my life, it was myself, Brody and Kingston, traveling around the country with my Mom and step-dad, Andrew," she continued, gazing dreamily over my left shoulder. "Life wasn't easy but it is what it is. Eventually, around the time of my sixth birthday, Brody and my Mom's husband both died, and Kingston was admitted to a hospital in upperstate New Jersey. My Mom was sent to prison, and I was placed in Foster Care."

I had to pretend that I didn't know all the gory details. Pretend I didn't know about the fact that her sister took her own life. That I didn't know how her mother blew her step-dad's brains out all over the kitchen floor. That I was oblivious to the fact that her brother was rotting away in a Jersey state mental hospital this very second. I set my face as blank, but sympathetic as I could.

"I don't know how much you know about our Foster Care System," she said, face tensing slightly but eyes still avoiding my own. "But it's terrible. It's horribly unorganized and inhumane, and frankly, an embarrassment to this country. They don't have enough social workers working for them. And the majority that do, don't give even the slightest shit about the children they're supposed to have on their cases. It's crowded and cramped, and rarely, if not never, do people give you the time of day. You're in a system that couldn't care less if you lived or died. In the twelve years I was in it, I was relocated and sent to different homes over fifty times."

"Jesus," I whispered, unable to keep it in. "A new home every couple of months?"

"Every couple of weeks, actually," she said breezily. "Never in one place more than once, never a familiar face in any of the homes. It was different everywhere I went."

She peered outside the window beside our table, and smiled a small, simply content smile. "Eventually, once I became a legal adult, I got out of the system, and was able to move to wherever I wanted and _do _whatever I wanted. At the time of my eighteenth, I was stationed in Denver, Colorado. So I finished up high school there, worked for a year and moved up here to Pennsylvania to start a new life."

"And now, here you are."

"Here I am," she agreed, eyes peering out the window at the navy, white laced sky surrounding us.

With the end of her story, came the end of her fierce demeanor. Her body eased, face loosened considerably and the bright, cheerfulness in those eyes overtook the dark and the fury that had burned so harshly just seconds before.

I had to do it quickly, in fear of her thinking I was a bigger creep than was already humanly possible, but I looked at her very closely; the face on this girl was unnatural. Not even jokin', you guys. Her skin was as smooth as silk, and her long, thick eyelashes curled elegantly above her piercing, protuberant eyes that were the color of harlequin. Plush, vermilion lips, long and rounded nose. Her deeply contoured jawline set harshly against the soft, easy curls of her russet hair. Some called her Harlow. Some called her Lo. Me? I think I was going to start calling her Insta-Boner.

Got a nice ring to it, I think.

She looked back over at me slowly, allowing me enough time to compose my pathetic little self. Well. A little. She smiled, and I could still see the slightest amount of tension still lingering only slightly in her face. But her eyes met mine for the first time in nearly fifteen minutes, and I felt relief - they were no longer clouded with anger, but were clear and bright once more.

"You wanna start headin' back?" she asked softly, unfurling those dainty, smooth hands from her cup.

"Sure," I agreed, pushing my own mug away from me.

We stood in comfortable silence, my awkward, lanking uneasiness clashing with her inhumanly easy, uninhibited grace embarrassingly. As we walked out, a few of the men at surrounding tables - and a few of the women, as well - took awed little peeks at Harlow over their mugs, or around their thick textbooks.

Oh _honestly_. Piss off you pigs. _She's mine_, my brain screamed, with a mingled sense of irritation at the bakery patrons and pride at the beautiful girl right in front of me.

Naturally, all of this attention was completely unbeknownst to Lo. She turned around right near the front door of the bakery, apparently checking to make sure I was behind her. She gave me a small, satisfied grin, and pushed the door open.

"Comin'?" she asked.

"Comin'," I responded quietly, as she propped the door open with that amazingly round bottom - I put a hand against it (the door, not her ass - God, I **wish**) and moved with her out into the nippy evening.

The night air seemed to erase any of her remaining discomfort. She sighed, and swept her long dark locks behind her shoulder, peering over at me contently.

"That was fun," she said cheerfully. "I like Stella's."

"We'll have to go again," I said, as we started the long trek to the car.

"I'd love to," she said, with the ghost of a smile lighting up her face.

"Well we've got each other's numbers now," I said, weein' myself a little at the fact that I held her magical, wonderful, deity-chested digits safely and soundly in my glorious iPhone. "We can go out anytime you want."

There was no tension around us at all anymore - it was like we hadn't just discussed her childhood from Hell. She was brilliantly joyful again, bobbing along happily next to me down the street lamp lit sidewalk. Her joy was infectious - seconds ago, I'd been shaken up, terrified of all (or most of, that is) the gory details of her childhood. Now? I could barely hide the smile threatening to explode onto my face.

"I'm always free," she said, but frowned a moment later. "Except this Friday. We've got another playoff game."

"Another one?" I asked.

She nodded. "We win this, we've got one left before we move on to Nationals. It's just an elimination round, sort of - narrow down the top team in Pennsylvania. If we win this one and the next one, we're on to Nationals."

"Wow!" I said, thoroughly impressed. "You guys are gonna take the championship home this year, I can feel it."

She smiled, and slid a hand confidently through my arm, patting my forearm lightly - I could've squealed in excitement (**suuuper** manly, right!). "I doubt that .. Texas State's taken the NCAA title every year for the past two - they're practically unbeatable."

"It's your turn to start Penn's winning streak," I said confidently, squeezing her arm lightly against my side. "I know it."

She grinned, resting her cheek lightly on my shoulder as we walked slowly down Lancaster Road. I could smell her hair, and I realized after all these .. days (God, how _lame_) that it was her hair that smelled so strongly of coconuts. Must've been her shampoo - her body must have been the strong vanilla scent. I'd have to investigate further.

Oh God, naked Harlow day dreams. OUT OF MY HEAD, OUT, **OUT**.

To attempt to distract myself, and possibly even her (not to flatter myself or whatever, but ... yeah, _okay_, to flatter myself! GO RYAN, GO GO, GO RYAN), from noticing the unsubtly large bulge growing from the crotch of my pants, I draped an arm around her slight shoulders, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"So. Chip Coffey, nice guy."

She peered up at me, and nodded, clutching my hand hanging over her shoulder with her own soft one. "Super nice guy, definitely."

"So, Chip said you guys met almost twenty years ago, he was a crisis counselor at your school, or somethin'?"

Awesome one, Ryan. Let's talk about her abuse and neglect filled childhood to hide your horrendously apparent erection. Good one, you fuckin' tool.

She blushed slightly. "That was a bit of a lie, actually. I met him when I was six - it was after my step-Dad and sister had died and I'd been put into the system. I think they wanted someone to check that I wasn't entirely insane."

"You're not," I said quickly, and she laughed.

"Jury is still out on that one," she mused. "But according to Chip, I was mentally stable enough to be thrown into the slums of Foster Care, so ... voila. Ended up in there. Never saw Chippy again, it broke my heart to tell you the truth."

"He always talked about a Psychic girl he knew when she was young," I said carefully, casually. "Said she had one of the most amazing abilities of anyone he'd ever seen. Never in a million years would I have pegged you as the girl with the amazing Medium abilities."

She smiled sadly. "I don't know if I'd call it amazing."

"I would," I said simply. "I think it's astounding. I have nothing but respect for you and Chip, and .. and everyone that can see what you do."

"Thanks," she said timidly. "I think I'd rather have been like .. super good at math or something. It's not exactly a talent every young girl dreams of having."

I laughed, that wicked humor bringing a smile to my face once again - oh, how I loved her. "No, no you're right. But it makes for an interesting life."

"I've had a decently interesting one with or without it," she said softly. "But Chip always flatters. I didn't know he was a Medium until I was .. sixteen, at _least_. I saw him doing a seminar in Bakersfield, when I lived there. Big posters all over the theatre."

"Did you go see him?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Naw. I had no cash, no way to get in. And frankly, I didn't really want anything to do with him - not because I disliked him, just because that time in my life wasn't a happy one. My sister had passed away, I was pulled from my home, I lost my family - y'know. I just avoided it at all costs."

I nodded. "I understand, definitely."

"But I'm thrilled to have gotten the chance to see him again," she said cheerfully. "Does he work with you guys on a lot of cases?"

"A ton," I said. "He's our go-to guy for most of our investigations. He's so modest, but really he's another person who's got one **hell** of a talent."

She smiled. "Has he ever explained to you how he sees them? The spirits?"

"Yeah," I said, as we rounded the corner of Landon on to Lanmark. "He said it's like a movie in his head. He doesn't see them as like .. people, or objects in front of him. He see's them in his mind and can hear them in his mind."

She frowned, bobbing happily along next to me. "Can he talk to them?"

"I think so," I said thoughtfully. "More like, they'll talk to him and relay messages to him, but in his head. That's how he communicates with them, all the times I've seen him do it, anyways."

"Hm," Harlow said, a look of sincere perplexity on that sharp face. "That's so strange."

"You don't see them like that?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Not quite."

"You don't have to tell me," I added quickly. "Sorry, I just assumed you all saw them like he did, I'm sorry - "

"Don't apologize," she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You didn't say anything wrong. As far as how other Medium's see them, I'm not entirely sure .. I haven't really done a lot of research on the topic. I just find it interesting, hearing how other people can see it, and deal how they can deal with it. All I know is what I am."

"Fair enough," I said. "I think they all see things differently, though. We work with a lot of different mediums, and they all see the spirits in mildly different ways."

"Like how?" she asked interestedly.

"Well .. Michelle Belanger, she can see them wandering around, kind of like people that no one else can see, and that can't see anyone else," I explained. "They communicate with her through her head, though - same as Chip. Another one, CJ Sellers. She can't see them but she can sense things, she's more of an empathetic Medium - the room and place she's in helps her figure out what happened and who wants to communicate with the living realm."

Harlow's brow was furrowed. "Interesting."

"Are you like any of them?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No .. no, not really."

I wanted more than anything to ask why not, but I didn't want to push her to tell me things she didn't necessarily feel comfortable telling me.

"Oh," was all I managed to say.

She peered up at me, and smiled humorlessly. "I see them as people."

"People?" I asked, dumbstruck.

She nodded. "Yeah. People. Like .. walking around, they look just like you and me. Sometimes, I can't differentiate between who's alive and who's dead."

I blinked, looking subtly down at her in awe. "They're that real?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. I mean, sometimes it's obvious. If they have gunshot wounds everywhere or they're dressed in period pieces or whatever, I can assume they're not alive anymore. Or if they walk through objects. Or if people don't notice them, just walk by - or through - them. Then that's another sign. Obviously, heh."

"That's .. that's incredible," I said blankly. "How do you talk to them?"

"Like I'm talking to you," she said simply. "I just talk, and they talk back."

I couldn't hide it anymore - I stared at her in polite shock. "Just .. talk out loud?"

"Yeah," she said, looking up at me with slight concern. "Is that not normal for Mediums?"

I wanted to point out that that was a slightly oxymoronic sentence, but .. perhaps another time.

"I don't know," I said, thinking. "I mean, I've never heard of any communicating like that before."

"It's strange," she sort of agreed. "But it's the only way I know how to."

"So .. do you see all of them? I mean, all of the spirits that are on the planet? Are you like .. surrounded by them at all times?"

She nodded. "Always."

"It must be frustrating," I noted.

"It is," she agreed. "Most of the time. It feels like I'm stuck in this limbo between the dead and living, all the time. I'm stuck in the Inbetween, but I'm alive and it makes no sense to me."

"The Inbetween? What's the Inbetween?"

"Just a thing I made up," she said, brushing it off. "It's nothing."

"It sounds interesting," I pushed. "Where'd you hear that from?"

"Nowhere. It's just a word I use. It's the only way I can think of that kind of explains how we see them. We, like .. Mediums. Psychics."

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"It means we're stuck in between the living and the dead. Inbetween. We can see both people, on both ends of the spectrum," she said, blushing slightly. "It's no parapsychological term or anything. It's just how I see it."

"That sounds .. brilliant," I said, the word running through my mind. Inbetween. In **between**. _In_ between. The Inbetween.

She smiled. "It is what it is."

"Chip can turn it off," I said suddenly, the thought popping randomly into my head. "Chip - he's able to tune out if things get too intense. He can slip out of the Inbetween, I guess."

She shook her head. "Once you're in it, you're kind of a lifer ... do you mean he's able to ignore the spirits around him?"

I nodded. "I think so. I just know we've been on nearly a hundred investigations with Chip, and if things get too intense, he can kind of ... shut the spirits out."

She nodded. "That's plausible. I've seen a lot of shows about them and read a lot of books about them too. A lot of them can do it."

"Can you do that?"

She shook her head, her face unhappy. "No."

"Have you tried?"

"I wouldn't even know where to begin, to be honest."

"So you're just .. you're always in the middle of it? You always see them?"

"Always," she said softly.

"Even when you were young?" I asked incredulously.

"I think so," she said thoughtfully. "Honestly, I look back now, and I really wonder how many people were really _people_ that I knew and talked to throughout my childhood. I didn't understand the things I could do and the shit I could see until I was at least ten years old."

"You didn't know they were ghosts?" I asked. "The people around you when you were young, I mean. You don't know if they were ghosts or not?"

She shook her head. "No, I mean I thought .. I thought they were alive. Like everyone else. I was a kid - being a ghost meant you looked like Casper. Being dead meant you were lying on the floor and not moving. It was much simpler when I was seven, I guess. I don't know how many friends I had that were alive and how many I had that were dead."

"So .. you could've been sitting in a playground talking to a person you thought was there, but in actuality, people looking from the opposite side of the park would've just seen you sitting there talking to yourself?"

"Could be," she said thoughtfully. "For all I know, that very well may have been the case .. after a while, once I figured out what was going on and everything, I just kind of ... closed myself up. Around my tenth birthday, I just became kind of introverted."

"Everyone must've thought you had imaginary friends when you were young, then. I mean .. they couldn't have possibly known .. could they?"

She shrugged. "I don't think they did. They just thought I was a weird kid, with an imaginary friend. Or friends."

"Well, most kids _do_ have them."

"What makes you think they're imaginary?"

She looked at me, those glorious green eyes dazzling in the moonlight. She grinned at my undoubtedly snow white and surprised face, and laughed a cheerful, contented chortle.

"It's just something to think about," she said simply. "It doesn't mean it's true."

"It's an interesting thought, though."

We continued walking in the cool, night air towards my car in comfortable silence. Her hand had slid off of my arm, but my hand had somehow (mysteeeriously! Ooh! Ahhhh!) managed to slide off her shoulder and get tangled up with her own hand. We walked together, in sync and in silence, happily.

"So," I said slowly, breaking the silence. "You remember the night of the Kegger? We were talking about finding peace, and ... and all of that?"

She nodded. "Yep."

"Is this why you don't think you've ever found peace?" I asked. "Because you've been stuck with this gift for so long,? This thing you don't want?"

She frowned, and looked ahead of her contemplatively. "That's a good question."

"I thought so," I said, and we both laughed.

"I guess it is," she said. "Other reasons too. Many other ones, that I don't care to talk about. But maybe being so close to both sides of the universe has left me with a ... somewhat _skewed _version and outlook on life. This thing I have. It's left me with more questions than answers."

"I'd imagine it would help you find peace, if anything," I offered timidly.

She smiled sadly. "Maybe for some people. But it just leaves even more unanswered questions for me, in my opinion."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Another time," she said softly, squeezing my hand gently. "We're almost at your car."

She was right - I cursed myself for parking so close to the God damn restaurant. This had to be one of the most fascinating conversations of my life. Her story, where she'd grown up, how she'd grown up, the hardships she'd had to face - they broke my heart, confused me, alarmed me, angered me. They made me ache so badly for her. Her ability, the way she perceived spirits and the outlook she had on them - _fascinating_. Her story and her abilities on the whole, were astounding. And then, of course - there was her.

I didn't know, didn't understand how a person that looked and spoke and lived and .. and did _anything_ like Harlow could really, truly be on a date with _me_ **right** now. This girl was all types of perfect. Her past, her abilities, her life - maybe those weren't.

But to me, there was no one better, no one lovelier -

no one I'd rather have been with right here, right now, than Harlow Vincent.

**(Harlow)**

"This is yours right here?"

I peered out the window and nodded. "Yep, Building 308."

"It's beautiful," he remarked, slowing the car down in front of my place. "Huge."

"I love it," I said cheerfully. "First place that's ever really felt like home."

"Amazing view you must have," he said, shifting his car into 'Park'.

"Gorgeous," I agreed. "I'm on the thirteenth floor, second highest."

"Unlucky thirteen," he said, with a small smile.

"It's been pretty good to me," I laughed.

He grinned, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. I had to do it quickly, but I glimpsed the side of his face, drinking in his fascinating and unconventional beauty. The traces of his dimples, a faint five o'clock shadow. The deep contours in his face, the heavily lidded eyes. The prominent jawline, the faint laugh lines near his chocolate colored iris'. To each their own, I'd heard that a million times - but I couldn't imagine a person in the world who wouldn't be attracted to this beautiful man sitting right next to me.

"Well," I said, his eyes glancing back over to me. "I gotta get goin' - I guess I should really start on that report."

"You should," he agreed. "I had a really nice time tonight, Lo."

"Me too," I said happily. "You're a good guy to go out with."

He chuckled. "Well, if you want to, I'd like to take you out again sometime. Sometime soon. Whenever you can, really. I mean, if you want to, you don't need to feel like, _obligated_, or whatever, like - "

I couldn't help the giggle that escaped from my lips - he'd done this twice before, his blundering. It embarrassed him, I could tell. But I loved it - he was such a cutie when he was nervous!

I put a hand on his lean, sturdy arm and smiled reassuringly as I could. "I'd _love_ to go out with you again."

He smiled thankfully, practically melting my heart right on the _spot_ with that gorgeous grin of his. "Lemme know whenever you're free."

I nodded. "I don't have much of a life, mainly school and volleyball. I'll text you or somethin' tomorrow, or I'll probably see you on Campus."

He smiled. "I hope so."

The conversation died, but the car was on fire. Not literally, of course. I'd hope to God we wouldn't just be chillin' in his front seat while the Civic was engulfed in gas fueled flames. But the air around us is what I meant, the connection between us - we lit the air on _fire_.

I don't know, even now thinking back, who initiated it first. All that matters is that we moved in, same time and same speed, towards each other, our lips meeting somewhere inbetween.

His lips were soft against mine, softer than I thought they'd be. His body was warm, the smell of him, his chest, his hair, his mouth, everything - filling my nose, quickening the beating of my already spasming heart. His hand had found my waist, had cupped so slightly, so gently around it - my right hand was pressed against his warm cheek, my left, resting lightly on his broad shoulder.

I shifted after a few moments, and we broke apart, gazing curiously at one another, before the awkwardness of all first time post kisses really hit us.

"Thanks," I said, my voice thick.

"I .. anytime," he said, voice matching my own in mild stupefaction.

"I'll text you tomorrow," I said, regaining my composure - but only slightly.

"Okay," he said, dopey grin sliding over his face. "Sorry - no, that's great, thanks. Yeah, thanks."

I laughed, embarrassed at our thirteen-year-old-esque awkwardness. I moved forward again, barely even brushing my lips against his own. I felt his lips turn up beneath mine, and a large, but surprisingly gentle hand run itself lightly over my hair. I smiled against his own, gave one last light peck, and pulled away.

"Bye," I said softly, attempting but failing miserably at hiding the goofy grin fighting it's way onto my face.

"Take care, Lo," he said, with my dopey grin's twin on his own handsome face.

I slipped out of his car, gave a small little wave and shut the door behind me. Rule of first dates! Never look back after being dropped off! Every girl in the history of the world knew that one. Duh.

I grabbed my keys out of my purse, going through the motions without really thinkin' about em. I slipped inside, walked in my own pathetically stupefied thrill to the elevator, and clicked the up button absentmindedly.

I had about a million things to do before I went to bed tonight. Reports to write, essays to edit, Psychology articles to go through. Notes to highlight, websites to search. A house to clean, bills to pay.

But honestly? None of that mattered right now.

All that mattered, all that I could think about, all that was stuck in my brain, was the feeling of his lips against mine. The heat from his body. The cool brown of his eyes. The smell of his cologne. The soft but roughness of his cheek under my fingers.

"Son of a bitch, he's _fine_," I muttered, stepping on to the nearly vacant elevator - in front of me, a small, wispy haired man stood calmly, all four feet, six inches of him wavering anxiously. He smiled as I stepped on to the lift, and pressed the number thirteen on his side. The light dinged on.

"Thanks Clance," I said dreamily.

"Who's so fine? Me?" Clancy asked cheekily, taking his bowler cap off and holding it politely against his chest.

I waited for the doors to ding and slide shut, before I grinned and peered over at the man, who's place was four floors below mine. "You wish you were as fine as this boy, Clancy."

The elevator lurched, and began it's quick and steady climb.

"You know," he said, with a bashful wave of his hand. "Back in my day, I was the coolest cat on the block!"

"Then take **your** amount of gorgeousness and times that by thirteen _million_," I said, with a faint sigh. "That still wouldn't even bring you close to matching Ryan's man beauty. Ho. Lee. _Shit_."

"Whatever you say - I still think I'm the cutest," Clancy said, with one last tip of his bowler hat. The elevator continued it's speedy ascent up towards the thirteenth floor, as Clancy moved swiftly for a man of his age to the steel doors in front of us.

I grinned, mind still hazed from the car smooch.

"Not by a long shot, Clance. Not by a long shot."

He winked, and popped his cap back on his balding head. "Evening, Harlow. This is my stop."

And with no more than the whistling of the elevator cables and faint lift music in the background, he disappeared through the closed steel doors.

Ghosts floating through sealed, steel elevator doors? No big deal.

I had just macked on Ryan Buell.

"I love my life," I muttered, dopey smile still plastered all over my face.

Oh God, how the _hell_ was I going to hide this from Chick?

* * *

**Authors Note: **oh my GOODY GOODY GOODNESS GRACIOUS GOODY POOPY SDHDS AJSDIW JGSDOIGNS. 20 REVIEWS, MY GOD YOU SEXY BUNCH OF HOT TAMALES. I LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU.

i just realized, i seem like such a freak in every single one of my author's notes ... it's just that i love your reviews and i love your love for me, and my love for your love is so lovely, and .. and ... SQUEALLLL. nevermind my pathetic squealing! on to the thank you's i must give out for the FABULOUS reviews i got!

**ferret assassin nin:** bahaha we have the same humor! i'll make a really raunchy joke and people will think i'm seirous, and they'll be SUPER offended and i so don't mean it! i agree with you about chad though, and i actually love you so much for reading the entire author's note. you are such a keener, i love it but i love you more, haha!!

**lindzxhatter:** ohhh why HELLO there wife! (i decided you're my wife. hope that's alright. i don't care if it's not, i got too much mad love for ya.) as for our children, i think they're gonna be HARD loved by everyone, cause they'll be amazing and funny and we'll dress them in polka dots and shit, and make them wear "I HEART PARANORMAL STATE" shirts and shit. yep. most popular kids in their class, GUARANTEEED. i love you and your reviews and your polka dot obsession. xo

**PureAngelEyes:** i'm glad you like my long chapters! initially i was really concerned that that would be a big turn off for people, cause of the amount of reading and everything, but i'm stoked you like it! and i loved your review :D the more people tell me what they like/dislike, the more i can tweak it and make it better. here is the next chapter for you, i adore you to bits! 3

**TJToxic614:** we are on the same boat as far as ryan being too adorable goes! you can be captain, i'll be your number one seaman. ... is that bad? i don't know. i meant it in a cute, I LUFF YOU way, but i think i'm more creepy, fanfic author stalker psycho biotch now. whatevs. i love you and your reviews, they brighten up my whole day! here is a chapter for you, because you're hot and also enjoy ryan as much as i do. xo

**futureauthor62: **you always make me squeal with delight when i read your reviews :D thank you bb cakes, you are the best!! hope you enjoyed the new chapter!

**SurriB**: my one true love! I LOVED YOUR REVIEW. i included more than originally intended about her background in this chapter, just cause you said it interested you ;) thanks for the fab review! and don't make fun of me for hating koalas .. they make seem innocent, but they are evil, eeeevil little fluffy goons. i do not trust them. ENJOY THE UPDATE ,you're my bff 3

**ashleymaria:** hope you're doing good, bud! take care of yourself, hope you enjoyed the chappy :)

**kcollins:** i read your review and even IIII got excited - and it was my own freakin' story! your enthusiasm makes my heart beat faster. love it, love the review, love you! thank you thank you!

**LilGirl23:** we are the same person, i swear to you! i agree with you, one hundred percent about chip. i mean, i don't care if he is or isn't gay, i think he's AMAZING. but i'm like .. almost positive that he is. which, hey, good for him. i love his sassiness. but you know what i love more than chip's sass? YOU AND YOUR AMAZING REVIEW. i appreciate it more than you will ever know, the least i can do is put you in my messy, badly formatted author's note, haha! thank you thank you thank you! xo i hope you've had a better day!

**aangs fangirl 1214**: that is so crummy you had a bad day, but i'm glad ryan's terrible awkwardness made up for it a little! uhm, i find that SUPER hard to believe, you have no fans? puh-lease. i am your number one fan. all you need is me. *wanders off to go make large, glittery signs for you* thank you for the review, much love!

**voll3yg1rl: **vacation! i am so jealous you don't even KNOWWW! i hope you had fun, but i just wanna say .. i'm miffed i was not invited. i can fit into most carry on luggage things. soo ... hinty hint hint. just jokin'! hope you had fun, i'm STOKED you're back, and thank you for that long ass review! you know just how to make my day better :) xo

**Aria DeLoncray:** you and i both love ryan, bud! we're gonna have to share. i callsies him on all days that end in day. i think that's fair :D thanks for the review!

**Sarah's Boo**: glad you liked the ending! thank you for the review, you are the sweetest pea in the whole pod, mwah! xo

**stufoo:** oh why thank you, new reviewer! i shall continue on with this story just for you, and cause you asked so nicely :D enjoy the chapter! thanks for the review!

**Purple With A Purpose:** hahaha, i will convert everyone into my downsies club! you will use that word everyday for the rest of your life now, i do and i can't even help it, bahaha. thank you for the review! i'd like to meet with you asap and plan out these ryan buell shirts. we gotta make em HAWT. i'm thinkin' of catchy slogans as i type this ... "BUELL MAKES ME DROOL". oh my god, i am a genius.

**runningtoxstandstill**: oooooh, you flattering flatterer! thank you new reviwer! your review made me blush and wave my hand in embarrassment. love it! and then, after i got your initial review, i got a SECOND one. which i loved JUST as much. and then the third one i got, you were so hopped up on the suga, as we gangstas call it, you made no sense and rambled on and on and on ... AND I PEED MY PANTS IN EXCITEMENT, i laughed so hard, hahahahah!! thank you so much for the THREE (count em, 3!!) excellent reviews. i. love. you. so. MUCH. xo

**Aly123654:** ahhh, i'm flattered you liked it that much! i really, truly, appreciate the feedback, thanks so much!

once again, i have SEVERE cramps from writing this freakin' author's note. am i going to bitch? nope. because i have a group of the best, most STUPENDOUS, AWESOMEEEE reviewers any author could ever have asked for EVER. 20 reviews! you guys blow my MIND. hopefully, you liked this chapter, because it was a bitch to write (it's hard when you got a million things you wanna write but you gotta wait for later on, bah!:( ). i'm going to try and update as quickly as i can, but i notice i've fallen into the habit of saying that, then having to wait like 3 weeks. SO. fingers crossed! this next chapter should be a relatively easy one to write.

thanks again, you lovely, lovely people! i love each and everyone of you. have a good week/weekend, talk to you soon!

**love;** ellah!


	10. Suppression, Ignoring Tomato, Tomahto

**Chapter Nine**

Suppression, Ignoring - Tomato, Tomahto

**(Kimmy)**

"They're late."

Rolling my eyes, I stretched my legs out in front of me. "Give 'em a break, Kenzie. They're early every other day."

Mickenzie, in all her orangey, fake tanned glory, shot me a dirty look - although to be honest, she was so tangerine it looked more like a constipated oompa loompa grimace than a sneer. "Can it, Kimmy. They're the _Captains_, for God sake. They're not supposed to be late to their **own** practice. They're the ones who set this shit up."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the tanning bed this morning," Emma muttered beneath her breath.

"If they're not here in five minutes, I'm out," Ainslee whined, running a hand through her white blonde, board straight hair. "I have stuff to do tonight."

"Cut 'em some slack, Ains," I said restlessly, bouncing the new volleyball on my knee - their disrespect and impatience were annoying the _crap_ out of me today - more so than usual. "I don't know why you're bitchin' Ainslee, or you, Kenzie. They don't threaten to bail out on you guys whenever **you** show up ten minutes late to practice - they just ignore it and make you both do double laps. Deal with it, Princess."

Ainslee and Kenzie shot me twin scathing looks, but the other girls on the team laughed - I grinned. Hey man, I couldn't help it! What would **you** do if two whiny little wieners kept bitchin' and moanin' about two of your buddies? I hope you'd be like me and tell those bitches _off_! Especially if said buddies weren't even here to defend themselves. I swear, this team and their cattiness was going to be the death of me.

Well, alright - that's not a fair statement.

The majority of this team was _actually_ a bunch of really wicked, really awesome girls. Well I mean, aside from Mickenzie Moeglen (_the day-glo orange, Barbie doll_), Ainslee Peloquin (_who looked like a Husky with pee-snow colored hair - pissy locks _and_ a pissy attitude, __**IRONY!**_), Ashlee Klumper (_the_ 'oh-my-GAWD-I-chipped-my-NAIL', _head up her ass, self-proclaimed future Ms. Top Model [but trust me on this one - besides long ass legs this girl had _nothin'_ on T. Banks]_) and Natalie Martins (_she was dumb as a fuckin' post, not much else to say about her_). Besides them, our team was _totally_ steller.

Next to me on the long, wooden bench, plopped my bestest friend in the entire world, Lindsey Thomas, who just _also _happened to be another team mate of mine - we were meant to be! Soph always called the two of us Team Refried Rice - Lindsey was tall and mocha, an elegant Spanish beauty. Me? I was short, tiny n' Asian. When we were on the court together, there was no _way_ the opposing team would get a hit on us - _neva!_ For some strange reason, from the moment the two of us met, we just totally **meshed**. I still don't know why, the two of us were polar opposites, I swear to ya. Maybe it's cause we have the best cuisine of all cultures in the world? Maybe for what I lacked in skin pigment and height, she made up for? I guess we'll never know - all that mattered in the end was that the adorable, coffee skinned Amazon sittin' next to me was the fabbest in the land. She grinned at me, that awesomely wicked smile lighting up her face, then she threw a long, dark arm around my shoulder.

"Lighten up, Kimmy," she yawned loudly, knocking her head gently against mine. "Give Ains a break, she's _sooooo _**tired**. She was reeeeally busy last night - she had a bunch of bars to go to, a whole bunch of tequila shooters to down. Someone's got a **killah** hangover."

Ainslee opened her mouth angrily, but Natalie moaned loudly and cut her off miserably.

"I have one too!" she whined, flashing her pointer finger over towards Lindsey and I on the bench. "It reeeeeally **hurts**."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, frowning at her hand that was now shoved_ directly_ in my face - ewwe, God only **knows** where this finger had been.

"My nail," Natalie sighed, puffing out her bottom lip in blank-faced misery. "It's all hungover."

"Your nail is hungover?" I asked. "What, your nail went bar hoppin' last night?"

"Understandably leaving her brain at home," Emma mumbled - Meagan swatted her on the head.

"I tried to cut it with scissors," Natalie sighed, ignoring the rest of us. "But it's still on there, all hungover and stuff."

The team exchanged puzzled, irritated and slightly grossed out glances amongst ourselves. Ainslee rolled her eyes, Meagan and Kenzie both laughed loudly. Jenn shook her head angrily - see, here's the thing - the majority of us on the team could deal with Nat and her no-brain. We'd just sort of become accustomed to it. Jenn? Well. Not so much.

"Are we getting funding for her or something?" Jenn asked aloud, incredulously. "Is someone like .. sponsoring us for putting her on the roster? Seriously? Or was I just** not **informed that I'm on the Penn State Special Olympics Volleyball Team?"

"I don't get it," Natalie said blankly, still waving her gimp finger and 'hungover' nail in my face. "We're going to the Olympics? Why? Does Harlow know?"

"That's a hang nail," I sighed, ignoring her incredible stupidity - it was hard, but over the years it became easier to just disregard her idiocy rather than linger on it. "Not a hang_over_, Nat. A hang **nail**."

"But it's hanging _over_ my finger," she said, bewildered.

It was a ridiculously hard concept to grasp, wasn't it?

"Did someone drop you on your head when you were a baby, Natalie?" Lindsey asked politely, and I gave her a sharp jab in the side. "Sorry Kimmy. But .. it's just .. come on. Seriously?"

"I was so proud to have been accepted to Penn State," Emma sighed, looking at Nat sadly with her dark brown eyes. "But now ... doesn't seem like such an accomplishment."

"Ow," Natalie sniffled, poking at her nail wearily. "I hate hangovers."

Kenzie groaned, and stomped at the ground irritably. "I can't even _deallll_ with this shit right now! Seriously, they've got like two minutes, or - "

"Or what, Kenzie?"

_BUSSSSS-TED!_

The team turned to the doors of the auditorium, and saw Harlow and Sophie making their way towards our scattered little cluster on the opposite end of the gym. Sophie was looking coldly (although, I think that might've just been her face - I really wasn't sure anymore) at Kenzie, while Harlow trailed behind, looking slightly dopey and .. Natalie-esque. Quite unusual for our normally alert, bee-ah-yew-tee-full Captain - it kind of looked like she'd been clubbed over the back of the head, her movements and facial expression slightly groggy. There was a backpack slung over her shoulder, and a new volleyball tucked under her arm as she walked with a cheerful little bounce in her step behind Soph.

"Or what?" Sophie repeated, glaring at Kenzie and dropping her own bag down on the ground in front of her. "I'd apologize for being three minutes late, but you're pretty unapologetic with us when you're _fifteen_ minutes late. So suck it up."

Mickenzie sniffed haughtily, and turned her head stubbornly. "Whatever."

Sophie cast one more dark look at Kenzie, ice blue of her eyes burning, before turning to the team tiredly. "To the rest of you, my apologies. Traffic's a bitch and Harlow drives like an old woman. We missin' anyone?"

"Nope, all here Cap'n," I said with a salute (I only do it because it drives her nuts, not gonna lie).

"God, Kimmy, for the millionth time, just call me Sophie," she said irritably, and I laughed. "You make it sound like I'm Captain Crunch."

"It's cause you'rrrrrre, Great!" Natalie said with a happy, hollow little laugh.

"That's Tony the Tiger," Jess said, puzzled.

"Oh where?" Nat asked, looking over both shoulders.

"Gawwwwd," Lindsey moaned, slapping a hand over her face.

"Excellent," Sophie muttered absentmindedly, pulling out her clipboard and shaking her head. "Nat's having an '_on_' day."

Sad, but true.

"What's up with Harlow?" asked Ashlee, frowning over at Lo - the team turned to look at her.

Harlow's face was slightly blank, but there was a happy little ghost of a grin on the blankness. Her face was oddly vacant. She blinked, and looked over at the rest of us at the sound of her name. "What? Sorry .. what?"

"Harlow's having a Natalie day," Sophie sniffed, not even peering up at her best friend. "Don't mind her."

"You have a hangover too?" Natalie asked sympathetically, and Harlow frowned in confusion.

"A what?" Harlow asked. "Hangover? No .. what? You have a hangover, Nat? Again?"

"A hang _nail_," Lindsey clarified. "She's just .. nevermind. Don't even ask, Lo."

"Wasn't gonna," Lo said simply, with a content little smile.

Ash was right, there was **definitely **something different about her today, that was for sure. I just couldn't put my finger on it ..

Regardless of how long you'd known Harlow, talked to her, seen her, whatever - on occasion her beauty still kind of struck you silent. Today, it seemed, was just one of those days. Not just for me - for the entire team. We were all kinda staring, mouths gaped and eyes wide at her - how horrifically _awkward_, haha!

Her face was glowing, bright and brilliant. Her hair was bouncy and shinier than normal, her skin radiatingly beautiful. Her usual easy grace was replaced with this bizarre, almost _floating_ step, and her eyes were dazzling.

But there was something else about her today that was striking, and for once it was not just her face or body. There was something else, something brilliant, something so wonderful and happy, and I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"She looks like a million bucks," I muttered to Lindsey.

"Naw man," Linds whispered back. "She looks like she just got the best lay of her life.

BINGO.

That was **totally** it! The bounce in her step and brightness in her appearance was something only a really killer sexy-time session could do - ow _owww_, Harlow V! Oww-freakin'-oww!

Sophie snapped her clipboard closed, and cleared her throat irritably.

"We're going to do some laps to start off," she said, ignoring the groans from Kenzie and Ash. "You bitch about them, then you can do double - so can it. Then team up, in pairs, and start spiking drills."

"How long do we do those for?" asked Meagan, stretching her thin arms above her head.

Sophie looked over at Harlow for an answer - Harlow was staring cheerfully but blankly at the opposite wall, chewing her lip happily. Sophie clicked her tongue in irritation, turning away from her stupefied best friend.

"As long as I say keep going, you keep going," Sophie said grumpily, shaking her head. "Stretch, Harlow and I have to set up the net. When we're done, I'll blow the whistle and you can start your laps."

"How many?" Jess asked.

"However many you can do in ten minutes. Harlow will keep track of time," Sophie said.

She turned to the absentminded Lo, and snapped her fingers. "You got that?"

Harlow blinked and looked over at Sophie, flabbergasted. "Yeah? Sure .. yeah, sure."

Sophie growled. "What'd I say?"

"I .. I don't know, but I agree," Harlow said, with an apologetic little grin - even in her dopey stupor, she was sickeningly adorable.

"You're an idiot," Sophie said blandly.

"I know, sorry," Harlow said dreamily. "Whaddya want me to do?"

"The net."

"Okay."

" ... **NOW, HARLOW.**"

"Oh gotcha."

Lindsey and I exchanged cheeky, _deeeevious_ little smirks. Oh, this was going to be an excellent practice! Harlow and Sophie set off for center court, Sophie walking quick and furious, Harlow lagging behind, and practically floating along in all her hard-bodied glory. Lindsey jabbed me in the side, and nodded towards them.

"C'mon," she muttered.

In all of our sneaky, subtle sleuthness, we stretched and limbered and arched our little selves over to the closest we could possibly get to center court. Harlow was unfurling the net cautiously, Sophie was dragging the pole to it's set hole in the floor.

" - seriously don't know why you're going again," Sophie said, that already cold voice even icier - yowza.

"You don't have to know why," Harlow's soft, smooth voice said calmly, unbothered by the chill in Soph's tone - her warm, soft-spoken nature always seemed to neutralize Sophie's freezing bite. "I had a good time. I'm sorry you dislike that fact. But I did."

"I don't dislike it," Soph argued. "I just think you're making a mistake. That's all."

"I'm well aware of where you stand on this topic," Harlow said, evenly as always but firmer than usual. "It's just another date, Soph. It's not a lifelong commitment, it's just one night."

"Well it better not interfere with volleyball," Sophie said darkly. "We've got games, you know."

"Obviously," Harlow said, unraveling the last few feet of the net delicately. "It's **me** who reminds **you** of when the games are, anyways. Don't even pull that."

Sophie shook her head, the ice blue of her eyes cold and focused. She propped the pole into the socket in the ground, and cranked the lever.

"I wish you'd just be happy for me," Harlow said softly, holding the frayed ends of the net loosely in her hands. She looked so small, cross legged and staring uneasily up at Soph.

"I am," Sophie said, but her tone said otherwise.

Harlow looked at her sadly, the brightness in her round eyes wavering for a moment. Sophie caught her gaze, and narrowed her almond shaped eyes.

"Really, Lo. I am," she said, this time a little more sincere. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

"I know," she said quietly. "I am too. But I'm happy,_ along_ with that surprised."

Sophie sniffed coldly, but nodded. "Just be careful, Lo."

Harlow smiled, looking cheerfully up at Sophie's cold face - this was probably as close as she'd ever come to getting Sophie's seal of approval. "I will. Hey, you wanna know what we did, Soph?"

"No," Sophie said firmly. "No, I don't."

"You'll think it's adorable!"

"No, I won't. Don't want to hear what you and Ghost Boy did."

"But you'll be _sooo_ happy for me!"

"No."

"Dontcha wanna know?"

"No."

"I'm gonna tell you anyways," Harlow said happily, jumping to her feet and hopping over merrily to her best friend - Sophie groaned. "We went to a bakery, Soph, it was so much fun, we got cinnamon buns and hot chocolate and we talked for two whole **hours**, Sophie - that's like a hundred and twenty minutes or somethin'!"

"Not listenin'," Sophie said, turning and walking over to the far end of the court to grab the second pole. "Not listenin', don't wanna know, don't want the dirty details, don't want - "

"We kissed, Soph, right on the lips! RIGHT ON THEM SMACKERS," Harlow squealed, clutching her chest in mock excitement. "We were in his car, it was so nice .. he smelt like Old Spice. That's my favorite smell, Soph, my **favorite**! When we kissed I could smell it, super strong! Hey! Wanna know what his lips felt like? Wanna know? Huh? You wanna, you wanna know?! I'M GONNA TELL YOU ANYWAYS."

The two of them wandered farther off into the corners of the gym, out of mine and Lindsey's hearing range. We turned to each other, mid stretch, and grinned.

"Harlow and Ghost Boy!" Lindsey hissed, a bright smile on her dark face.

"His name is Ryan," I corrected quietly, excited at the prospect of Harlow and her new man love. "Ryan Buell."

"So .. she'd be Harlow Buell," Lindsey said thoughtfully. "That's cute. I like that."

"You think they hard banged?" I asked.

We looked over, and burst out laughing at the sight of Sophie dragging a pole miserably across the gym, and Harlow hopping around excitedly, dragging the net behind her like some kind of cape.

" - wanna know what his cheeks felt like? Wanna, wanna, Soph, you wanna know?"

"No."

"I'm gonna tell you anyways!"

"I'm going to clock you in the head with this pole."

"Speaking of pole!"

"**SHUT UP, HARLOW, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, OH GOD, EWE.**"

Needless to say, neither Lindsey or myself could stop laughing all of practice - and neither, apparently, could Harlow. The smile, the glow the cheer - it stayed on her face the entire time.

Maybe we don't give Ghostbusters enough credit? They seem to be _quite_ the little heart stealers.

**(Katrina)**

"RYANNNNNN. RYAN. **JESUS CHRIST, RYAN!**"

"Whaa - what? What? Sorry, what?"

The team looked over at him, perplexed. We'd been here for fifteen minutes - literally, **only** fifteen freakin' minutes, and this was at least the tenth time he'd zoned out on us. Eilfie waved a hand in front of his face, and glared at him in annoyance.

"Nice of you to join us," she said bitterly. "What are you doing?"

"Just ... just sittin'," he responded lamely.

"Clearly," Heather said, with a note of obviously forced irritation (Bless her little ol' heart, but she just could not be irritated to save her life - she could not pout her way out of a paper bag, let's be real here). "We're trying to go over this case, Ry. You alright?"

"Fine," he said thickly. "I'm good. S'allgood."

"He's been like this **all day**," Sergey said crossly, shaking his head. "He took a shower this morning. Yep. Fully clothed. Boxers, socks and an undershirt, I saw him go in like that and saw him come out the exact same - except completely drenched. Know what else? He was buttering his hand this morning. His **hand**. No. I'm not even joking. His toast was in the frickin' sink."

"Thought it was the toaster," he mumbled dreamily.

I frowned, and looked at our dear Boss closely. Less than a day ago, he'd been a mopey, pit of depression. Avoiding eye contact, snapping at everyone. And now, literally only about twenty four hours after that, here he sat -

dopey, cheerful and smiling.

Guys were _so_ weird.

"Are you **high**, Ryan?" Josh asked incredulously. "You're acting like you're completely stoned."

"I'm not," he said, shaking his head - his cheeks were rosy, his face was glowing, but he _definitely_ didn't look baked.

"Then what's up with you?" I asked, frowning at his absentmindedness. "You go from angry, angsty moper to happy, cheerful dope in a matter of hours."

"Nothing," he said again. "S'nothin'."

"Was he like this yesterday night?" Heather asked Sergey, a little concern in her timid voice.

"He wasn't home last night until late," Sergey said simply. "Elevenish."

"Where were you last night, Ryan?" Eilfie asked, but his eyes had rolled away from the table once again, small smile flickering lamely on his face.

"Not again," Josh mumbled.

_SMACK!_

"Ow!"

"PAY ATTENTION, YOU TIT," I yelled.

He rubbed his head, and shot me a dirty look. "I am, I am!"

"Where were you last night?"

"Home," he said.

"No you weren't," Sergey said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I went to bed at ten, and I heard Xander at 11:00 barking."

"Oh, right," Ryan said blankly.

"Where were you, then?" Heather asked.

"Stella's," he replied.

"Why were you at Stella's?" I questioned.

"Got sm' nice cinnamon buns, there."

We all frowned at him, and his cheeks burnt red. He shrugged his shoulders, and looked down at the file in front of him. "Laura Peever, eh? Where's the case location?"

"You were at Stella's all on your own?" Josh asked him shrewdly.

"Says _Laura Peever_," Ryan said dumbly, pointing down at the case file.

"STELLA'S THE BAKERY, RYAN, THE BAKERY YOU WERE AT LAST NIGHT," I said loudly.

"You don't have to yell," he said uncomfortably, squirming in his chair. "I can - "

"It was Harlow, wasn't it," Eilfie said calmly, looking hard at Ryan with a little twinkle in her eye.

He opened his mouth once, closed it, opened it again, and his face broke into a brilliant grin. He groaned, and slapped a hand over his face, hanging his head in embarrassment.

Sergey frowned and looked at Eilfie. "You're good .. how'd you know that?"

Heather squealed in delight, clapping her hands together joyously. "Oh, you guys **hard** banged, didn't you!"

Ryan laughed, the redness in his cheeks only intensifying. "No, no no - we just went for a hot chocolate and a late night snack."

"Late night snack as in your peni - "

"Gross, Heather!" Eilfie moaned.

"Hey, it's just a question."

"How'd it go?" I asked, ignoring their disgusting Ryan Peen talk - I'd grown used to it. "How'd that happen? I thought she kind of .. spazzed, and that was the end of it."

"She came into the class yesterday night, after you guys had left and apologized for freaking out, which she didn't have to do," he said simply. "And .. she asked me out sometime, and I asked if she was busy that night, and she said no .. and that's that."

We all stared at him shrewdly - he laughed, and raised his hands. "Honestly."

"You didn't knock some serious boots?"

"No."

"She didn't invite you up to her place?"

"No."

"She didn't offer to go dow - "

"HEATHER!"

"Sorry!"

Ryan laughed, shaking his head. "No, no .. none of that."

"You totally kissed her," Eilfie said, smiling smugly at Ryan.

Once more, he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and another smile, bigger and brighter than the last, split across his face.

"How do you _know_ this?" Sergey asked Eilfie, awed.

"You **kissed** her!" Josh said, excitedly.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, trying but failing miserably to hide my grin.

"Kiss as in face kiss, or - "

"Heather, don't finish that sentence," I said, with a shudder. "Seriously. Just don't."

"It doesn't matter," Ryan said. "We had a good time. That's .. that's all that counts."

We were all silent, and Ryan looked nervously between us. "Okay. So. Laura Peever case. Can anyone tell me the location - "

"Were her lips soft?" Heather asked interestedly. "They always look soft. Were they soft?"

Ryan blushed, but went on. "It's a local case, isn't it? I thought I read it was only an hours drive away - "

"Did you initiate it?" Josh asked. "Or was it like a mutual smooch? Or was it **more** than a smooch?"

The pink turned to red. "If that's the case, we probably won't need everyone to go down there, we could even bring Chip before he goes back to - "

"Was there boobie grabbing?" I asked. "Did you go for a full scoop?"

"What did her hair smell like?" Eilfie asked. "Did you run your hands through her hair, Ry? Was it soft?"

"Did you do the face hold? Or did _she_ do the face hold? Did someone hold someone's face? It's so romantic when that happens .. "

"Did she do the inner thigh rub? That's a racy move, but she seems like a racy girl .. "

"Did she do the light kiss, or were you guys hard smoochy smoochy?"

"You better not have tried to stick your tongue in there, that's so bad for first dates."

"You drove her home, right? You didn't make her walk."

"Did you hug her? We like when you hug us."

"Stop, stop," Ryan said, the red now a violent crimson. "Enough, seriously ... no more."

He sighed, and we all bit our tongues.

But to our surprise, he took a deep breath, and grinned. "But, since you _are_ my best friends .. very soft, mutual smooch, no breast grope, coconuts, I felt it and it _was_ soft yeah, she did the face hold, there was no thigh rubbing, there was hard then light, no tongue, I drove, no hugs."

He exhaled, and slammed his pen down on the table. "Fuck this, I can't read a case file right now."

"You didn't embarrass yourself with her, did you?" Josh asked worriedly.

"No," he denied. "I don't think so .. it went pretty smoothly, I think."

"You didn't bring up your Peter Pan Halloween Costume phase, did you?" Heather asked. "That's something that should never be discussed. Even if you guys end up married. That could be irreconcilabe difference number one on the divorce sheet."

He blinked, and gnawed at his bottom lip. "Nope, didn't mention it."

"Oh God," Eilfie moaned. "He _so_ did!"

Ryan shook his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again, before turning a bright, strawberry red. Serge turned to Eilfie, mouth agape.

"How do you _do_ that?!"

**(Chip)**

"I'm just so, so, _so_ sorry, Harlow - I just .. I feel awful. Just ... **awful**."

"For the millionth time, Chippers - no big deal."

"I've just felt terrible, this whole time, I just ruined your first date together ... me and my big mouth. So stupid .. "

"Accidents happen," she said simply. "I think you're more torn up over it than Ryan or I were _combined_. And I told you, we've more than made up for it."

"Still," I said guiltily. "I just .. I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, and waved a hand dismissively. "Stop it. No more. It's over. Water under the bridge, and all that jazz. On to happier things, Chipster!"

"I'm still sorry."

"I love your sweater!"

"You can forgive me?"

"Your face is so wonderful."

"Even though I'm a complete nitwit?"

"Rainbows and sunshines and stickers!"

"I get it, okay okay," I laughed.

She grinned at me from across the counter as she bustled back and forth, grabbing mugs from the dark, wooden cabinets, pulling the milk out of the fridge, grabbing stir spoons for the tea. Her thin body moved noiselessly across the oaken linoleum. Dark hair pinned up messily, long legs clad in baggy grey sweatpants, no makeup to speak of. Her skin was sun kissed bronze, smooth and sublime. I knew it was her, knew it was the Harlow I'd met so long ago - but it was _still_ almost unbelievable.

That young, ugly duckling I'd felt so terribly for was this near-illusory, beautiful swan that was the envy of girls everywhere. Accomplished, brilliant, attractive, athletic _and_ talented. If I hadn't known all the dirty details of her sordid past, I think I'd really, **truly** hate her guts.

But naturally, I mean that in the best way possible!

"Your apartment is absolutely _gorgeous_, Harlow," I said dreamily, looking around the spacious kitchen.

"Thanks Chippy," she said cheerfully, her voice still lush and warm with the same exact eloquence she'd had even all those years ago. "I love it. It's_ home_. An actual **home**."

"Weird to say that word, isn't it?"

"I never have before in my life."

I smiled, almost pitifully. "First place you could call home in _years_,huh?"

"First place I could call home _ever_, actually," she corrected softly, popping the milk back into the fridge. "How many sugars in your tea?"

"One heaping," I replied. "How long have you been in here?"

"A little over four years," she responded, bopping the fridge door closed with her foot. "First big purchase of my life. Well. And _last_, now that I really think about it."

"Ahh, you're just frugal, that's all. Nothin' wrong with that."

"I think cheap is the word we're lookin' for."

We laughed, and she passed me my steaming mug from across the dark granite counter.

"We can go in the living room if you'd like," she said contently, picking her own mug up daintily between her small hands. "It's comfier than the bar stools in here. They're more for decoration anyways."

"Sounds great," I said, following her strong form out of the room - my stomach flopped cheerfully as I got an overwhelming whiff of coconut and vanilla. "It's so orderly in here."

"Thanks," Harlow said, running a hand through her dark hair. "I can't stand things being out of place or dirty - it drives me crazy. I swiffer this place like five times a day, it's a bit OCD of me."

"Same girl I remember," I smiled, as we padded down the hardwooded hallway back to the living room. "Did you decorate the place all on your own?"

"Not really," she admitted, her barefeet making even _less_ noise than my sock clad ones. "It came all newly renovated and re-decorated when I moved here - that's what kind of sold me on it. I don't have a good eye for that kind of thing - I actually _envy_ the people who're just born with natural decorating skills. Basically, I just built the bookshelves from K-Mart kits and pulled **almost** all the furniture out of Salvation Army dumps. Some stuff I stole from my best friend's house, some stuff I found at random garage sales around the state. That's about all the work I've put into the house - done more bad than good, I think, not going to lie."

I laughed at her honesty, as we plunked down on opposite sofas in her spacious living area. I perched my mug on the arm of the couch carefully, and settled cozily into the plush cushions. "Well _I'm_ impressed - it's amazing for a bunch of stuff you pulled out of a second hand store garbage heap - you may be hopeless with a hammer but you seem to be a dumpster diving prodigy. I, for one, am impressed."

She plopped into the opposite, steel grey couch and grinned over at me, raising her mug thankfully. "Cheers to being reno-tarded!"

I laughed, and took a sip from my cup - light was pouring into the living room, illuminating the little glass ornaments and lamp shades strewn around the room. It was with great sadness that I noticed the real bareness of the home - _beyond _the bookshelves and paintings and nick-nacks strewn around the apartment. There were no pictures of friends or family anywhere in the area - none on any of the side tables, nor on the walls or bookshelves. The only faces were on the covers of her novels, or on the television or on the scandal sheets. The home was full, that was a fact - but it was full of items, not of memories. None I could see, anyways.

"It reminds me a bit of the apartment I first moved into," I said - the emptiness and memoryless walls depressed me, I tried to rid them from my mind.

"Yours was too big, obsessively tidy and neighbored two old people, too?" she asked, with a laugh.

"Naw, but mine had a spirit in it too," I said, with a little wink.

She chuckled softly, warming her hands against the outside of her mug.

"The minute I walked in here I sensed a presence," I said, looking around at the bright walls. "Although, I'm sure you already knew that."

She sipped her drink gingerly and nodded her head, small smile on those plump lips. "I figured it out fairly quickly."

"You talk to it?" I asked, straining my mind. "I can't really contact it .. blocking me out, I think."

"She's shy," Harlow said simply, cradling the mug in her hands. "Doesn't really like to communicate very much."

I smiled. "You ever talk to her?"

"On occasion," she said, nestling back into the gigantic pillows behind her. "I don't talk to spirits if I can help it."

"Why?" I asked, frowning. "You're so good at it .. you can hardly ignore them forever."

"I sure can try," she sighed, looking drearily out the great, full length windows to her left.

"You were always keen to talk to them when I knew you," I tried, folding my left leg over top of my right.

"I was six," Harlow said simply, with a small smile. "You're keen to do a lot of things you normally wouldn't be when you're six years old."

"That's true," I said, thoughtfully. "But you always enjoyed it. Or, seemed too."

She nodded. "Things change, though. It's not the coolest thing in the world when you're fourteen, going through puberty, and being made fun of for Seeing them on a daily basis. People can pass them off as imaginary friends when you're young, but in high school ... not so much."

"Ahh," I sighed. "It was a social decision."

"Sort of," she agreed. "Let's face it, Chippy. It's basically social suicide to see ghosts."

"Not to everyone," I argued lightly.

"No, not everyone," she agreed again. "But the people who are down with Mediums in high school aren't really the kind of people you'd want to be associated with. Sort of the .. weird, Occult practicing creeps. Or pre-Columbine psychos. Or .. future Marilyn Manson wannabes. I preferred to just be a wallflower - better to fade into the background than stick out like a sore thumb. I was pretty good at hidin' in the background, not to toot my own horn or anythin'."

"I find that hard to believe," I said, looking at thoroughly - _very_ hard to believe. "When did you, er .. grow out of your .. uhm .. you know, your - "

"My ugly as sin phase?" she asked, then laughed. "I still looked like a lanky, oddly shaped little boy until I was about seventeen. Then I grew these suckers," she pointed at her chest and laughed. "Skin cleared up a bit, I filled out more and my head grew into my nose."

I laughed loudly, trying to shake the pre-Model Harlow out of my head - God, she really **had** been quite the sight. "So _after_ high school."

"After," she said, smiling. "I just kind of floated along through the upper years. I was no popular, modelesque beauty. But I wasn't as lame as they thought the chess club was. I was kind of a reclusive, library hermit. Besides, I was never anywhere longer than two months, so no one ever really bothered with me."

"But you didn't bother with anyone either," I said. "Things might've been different, Lo .. "

"I still would've seen dead people," she said, and we laughed. "In all seriousness, though. I think it was in my best interest to just .. ignore it. Ignoring it has done me more good than bad."

"You're holing it all up, though," I argued. "You're suppressing it - that can't be good for you either."

"I'm not suppressing," she denied. "I'm just pretending it doesn't exist."

"Suppressing," I said.

"Ignoring," she said.

"Suppressing."

"Ignoring."

"Suppressing, ignoring. Fine line, Lo."

"Tomato, Tomahto."

"You're still so stubborn," I sighed, with a smile.

She smiled over at me, and shrugged those slender shoulders. "Suppressing (as **you** call it, anyways)has done me no harm."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Then tell me something."

"Anything."

"You can honestly say that it hasn't gotten worse over the years?" I asked.

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Ignoring it - the spirits - for the past, what .. 14, 15 years? It hasn't say .. _intensified_, some of the feelings you get?"

She chewed her bottom lip obliviously. "I don't know."

"Don't lie, Lo," I said comfortingly. "It's been harder to deal with since you started ignoring it."

She looked at me thoughtfully, then dropped her eyes down to her mug. "Well, it's never been _easy_."

"But it's harder now, isn't it?"

She nodded her head, tapping those long, thin fingers against the smokey grey of her cup. "A little."

"Little?"

She peered up at me, shamrock iris' sparkling and shrugged. "Lots."

I nodded, understandingly. "You can't ignore it, Harlow. It's like an .. infection, sort of. You get it, you sort of deal with it for a bit. What happens if you ignore it?"

"It spreads," she said. "Gets bigger."

"Gets _worse_," I corrected quietly. "Until you've ignored it so much, for so long, it gets to a point of no return. You can't do anything to fix it, even if you wanted to. You've let it go unnoticed for too lengthy a time."

"It's being psychic, not Gangrene, Chip," she said, with that same cheeky little smile she'd always had.

I waved a hand at her, and she laughed.

"It's not unbearable, though," she said breezily. "I can manage it."

"Can you turn it off?" I asked. "Tune it out?"

She shook her head. "No."

"What happens if you try?"

"Nothing," she said simply.

"How's it gotten worse?"

"They're just .. getting louder," she said, wincing a bit. "More of them are malevolent. Angrier. More can see _me_ now, know that I can see them. It feels like some days, they're taking over."

"Taking over what?" I asked gently.

She blushed and smiled in slight embarrassment. "My brain."

I smiled sadly and nodded. "It's overwhelming, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Honestly Chip .. it's starting to affect my schoolwork and Volleyball. I'm so focused on ignoring them, sometimes I lose track of what I'm supposed to be paying attention to in the present."

"That'll never do," I said thoughtfully. "You've got to get a hold on this."

She sighed. "What can I do? Fat chance I'll ever be okay with it, or come to terms with it. It's just something I've got to deal with, on my own .. I've got to learn to balance the two."

"What, ignoring spirits and paying attention in class?" I asked. "Well first off, that's not even doable. It's hard enough to pay attention in a University level course, nevermind when you've got long since deceased spirits yelling at you. And second - I keep telling you, it's _not_ going to get better. It'll get worse before better. The more you ignore it, the worse and more severe it becomes."

She frowned. "Well what should I do? Because as of late, I seem to have run out of ideas."

"You've got to let it out!" I said enthusiastically, and she laughed. "No, really! You've been given a gift for a reason, Harlow. I always say, God doesn't give you more than you can handle!"

"Well I've made it through Nia Vincent, Foster Care and High School," she sighed, taking a sip from her mug. "But I owe that to no one but myself. Sorry, Chip."

"Regardless of where your beliefs lie," I said calmly. "You have this gift for a reason. You need to use it to the best of your ability. You need to help. You need to manage this thing, so it doesn't start managing **you**."

"How do I do that," she said simply, looking at me curiously.

"Well that's what we have to figure out," I said, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "You definitely don't want to just ... _embrace_ this thing? Let it out there?"

"No," she said firmly. "Absolutely not. Wallflower, Chip. I strive to be an inconspicuous introvert."

"Right," I said, laughing mentally - the day Harlow was able to be inconspicuous was the day pigs would fly.

"I talk to the girl in my apartment sometimes," Harlow reasoned. "That's good, right?"

"Does she need help passing on?" I asked.

"I don't think she really wants to," she said.

"Well ... it's not exactly aiding a spirit if they're content with where they are," I said, slightly apologetically.

Harlow sighed, but her eyes lit up a second later. "Well, there's an old ghost man in the elevator all the time, Clancy. I talk to him. Does that count?"

"Do you try and help him pass on?"

"Well ... no, I get him to press my floor number's button."

"Then no, Harlow. Not really."

"Dammit."

An idea popped into my head, and I clapped my hands in sudden excitement - Harlow jumped about a foot into the air, looking at me wide-eyed.

"You just about scared the crap out of me," she said.

"You see dead people, Harlow."

"Yeah, at least I can _see_ them. It's your sudden bouts of applause that catch me off guard."

I laughed, but propped myself up excitedly on her couch. "No jokes! I have an idea!"

She leaned forward with interest. "Lay it on me, Chippers!"

"Come with me on Friday," I said. "Ryan's got a case about an hour away from here - "

"I don't want to be on TV," she cut in, shaking her head sadly.

"It's not for television," I said. "It's just a case they're doing off camera. Lady needs some help, he needs me to go do a Psychic walk-through. Come with me!"

She looked at me warily. "I don't know, Chip .. "

"What's the matter? It's _perfect!_"

"I've never done a walk-through before," she said, uncomfortable. "I don't know how."

"You walk through and just tell us what you sense, or _feel_," I said. "It's easy, Harlow. And you're already a natural."

"But I don't sense or feel anything," she said, matter-of-factly. "I just talk to them. That's all."

"Then talk to them," I said, waving my hands. "You're not going in there to impress us with your walk-through skills. You're going to help try and solve the mystery of why this woman is being harassed, and why this spirit won't pass on. It's not about your level of confidence. It's about helping people, doing what you were _born_ to do and given a _gift_ to do, and relieving your poor ol' noggin of some of that Medium tension."

She frowned. "I don't know, Chip .. "

"It's not going to be on camera. It's going to be me, you, Ryan. That's it."

I saw a pink creep up to her cheeks at Ryan's name, and I squinted my eyes shrewdly. "Why so pink?"

"What?"

"You blushed when I said Ryan."

"No I didn't."

"You're doing it now!"

"I'm just hot, that's all!" she said, as she fought an embarrassed grin spreading on her face. She groaned, burying her head in the couch cushions.

I roared with laughter. "You like him, don't you! You like Ryan!"

"I didn't say that," came her muffled voice.

"You're not nervous to do the walk through, you're nervous of what Ryan will think!"

"Not, not, not," she mumbled.

"C'mon Harlow," I reasoned, setting my mug down beside me. "What do you have to lose? Ryan won't judge you. I sure as heck won't. There's nothing to lose here, except the weight of those spirits on your shoulders."

She didn't move for a minute, but slowly, pulled her head from underneath the pillows and looked at me irritably. Her hair was ruffled, mouth down-turned - but eyes bright with thoughtfulness.

"Okay," she said, after a few silent moments. "Alright."

"You'll come?!" I asked excitedly. "You'll do it?!"

She nodded, and looked at me worriedly.

"If Ryan wants me to. If not, then no, it's fine - there's other ways I'm sure I can deal with this," she said.

"Oh I'll call him as soon as I get back to the hotel!" I said joyously, bouncing merrily in my seat. "Of course he'll want you to - **two** Mediums on _one_ case! God, he'll be in his _glory!"_

_"_Definitely no cameras or anything?" she asked worriedly. "Just me and you and Ryan?"

"Just the three of us," I confirmed.

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and turned her anxious eyes up on me. "Okay. Yeah, okay. If you think it'll help .. "

"What do you have to lose?"

"I'm weighing those options out in my head right now, as a matter of fact."

"You don't come, the only thing you'll lose is your sanity."

"Oh God, that's loooong gone."

I smiled. "You're sane as anyone, Harlow. This will help. You'll get a bunch of this repressed ability out - you'll feel so much better. **Huge** weight lifted _right_ off your shoulders!"

She nodded, fingers steepled in front of her. They fell tiredly onto her knees, and she nodded again. "Okay. If it'll help, yeah .. let's do this."

* * *

**Authors Note: **HAPPY VALENTINES DAY, WHOOOOO WHOOO!

Ooooh, hello my fabulous reviewers! I apologize for the horrendously long update, I have no excuse this time - I've simply been drinking and partying and working, and have been neglecting the story :( Sorry! BUT, here is a fresh new chapter, hope you like it, love, want more of it, and all that fun stuff! 15 REVIEWS THIS TIME. You guys never fail to amaze the living poo out of me, really. THANK THANK YOU YOU THANK YOU! Especially to you fab fifteen;

**lindzxhatter:** aka, my wife. your reviews never fail to make me squeal and giggle! HOW I LOVE THEE. you are adorable. OH. happy valentines day, wifey! i decided i'm gonna go and buy you a fleece onesie with my sexy face printed on the front. i hope you like it. because even if you don't, you HAVE to wear it, or no more chapters. bahaha, BLACKMAIL.

**PureAngelEyes: **ohh, thank you so much! i love when people pick out their favorite parts of the story, then i know for sure what i need to add more of, haha. i loved your review, thanks a million, bud! and i'm glad you like my long chapters :)

**rosecoloredskies:** thank you so much! you love this story? well i love YOU for reviewing! thanks bud! i'm glad you like harlow, it's always really scary introducing a new character in fanfic, because you love them, and you want everyone else to as well, so i'm glad she's got a bit of fan following now, haha! thanks so much!

**protozoa-weirdness:** bahaha, i'm totally gonna rip off your review - i liked it, i loved it, and now i want some more of it. you are fabulous!! thanks for the review!

**ashleymaria: **awwe, you are the sweetest! you've been reviewing since day one, and i love you for it :) hope you're feeling better!! thanks doll!

**TJToxic614:** oh i'm so glad you got the humor in my "you're my new seaman" joke, most people would be like _*typing letter to fbi's sexual assaulters list*_. i'm just creepy, but i swear i'm cute too :D thank you so much for your review, i'm glad you like me and harlow and ryan! I LIKE YOU TOO. and lo does as well. and i'm sure ryan buell is _also_ a fan. thanks! :)

**kcollins:** bahaha, i was jealous when i wrote that part too, don't worry! i read stories on here sometimes, and i'm like "efffff this, I'M BETTER FOR RYAN THAN HER" *sobs*. and then i too, remember it is only fan fiction. and i get super embarrassed, haha. thanks for the review!

**ferret nin:** your review was a frickin' novel - **I LOVED IT SO MUCH.** you are epitome of fantastic reviewer, because you're detailed, you give me constructive criticism and you review EVERYTIME. i. adore. you. don't you worry! there will be more ryan teasing in upcoming chapers - oh god, a LOT of ryan teasing, don't even worry! tell me what your story's called again, i'd love to check it out!! thanks so much for the review, you're a ridiculously sexy ball of reviewer. love it/you!

**voll3yg1irl:** hahaha, man, i'm canadian, so going to idaho would've been AWESOME. especially since i like potatos, and i'm pretty sure idaho is known for their potatos and shat. love it! i'm comin' next time, i fit impressively well into any small conpact suitcases :D thanks for the review, i'm glad you liked the kiss, haha! and thank ya for the opinion on chad, i'm glad i'm not the only one who's fond of him :) he's gotten a kinda shitty review on the PS boards, i feel bad for him :(

**runningtoxstandstill:** i don't think i have ever met anyone via internet who is as crazy and hyper as you - and i looooove it, hahahaha! so funny! thank you for your insane, exclamation point, smiley faced filled review - it was **amazing**! hahahah, love you!

**SurriB: **say whaaaa! you're in the army? i'm sorry, i'm a little slow (i'm a hard city girl for EVA, i don't know much about anything, haha). USAF, that sounds dangerous and impressive and a little bit sexy, too ... be careful!! i'm glad you enjoy the background and slightly disturbed psychology of harlow - but lemme just tell ya, you ain't seen notttttthin' yet! it gets crazier, haha. thank you so much for the review! i always love when i see a new review from SurriB, cause i know it's gonna be killer :D oh. and. ps. koalas, are raunch. pandas? CUTEST THINGS IN THE WORLD. you're a panda hater, shame on you! pandas will rule this earth one day, with their cute little faces and chubby little bodies! *SQUEALS*

**Aangs fangirl1214: **eeeep! i didn't even think it was possible, but every review from you keeps getting better and better and better! i truly am your number one fangirl. i think i'm going to make a career of following you around everywhere carrying a large, white poster board with your name on it. that's how absolutely fab you are, i love it!! thanks so much for the review, i'm glad you liked their kissy kissy :)

**Purple With A Purpose:** bahaha, i can't believe you're actually IN peter pan! oh god, i really hope i haven't ruined the magic of it for you, but i don't know .. i could just see ryan as like, a little boy, refusing to wear anything except his sparkly, harlequin green peter pan outfit, and shouting "i'm never gonna grow up! neverrrrr! NEVER EVER EVER". it makes me laugh everytime, bahahaha. BUELL MAKES ME DROOL, i really have to get on those! we could make a fortune! thanks for the review, it was absolutely wonderful :)

**heyymelx3:** as if you live in state college! FIND HIM FOR ME, HEYYMELx3, FIND HIM. hahaha, if i were there, i would spend every waking hour hunting him down. i would create my own society, 'find ryan buell'. do it! i'll fly down there and join you, haha. thanks so much for the review, glad you like the story!

sorry the author's note is so blahhh today, i'm feeling kinda crummy and unenthusiastic, and i'm not sure why? probably all the drinking. damn my life, and my being 18! it's the roughest age known to man. i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! i'll get started on the next one asap, don't worry :) i hope you guys have a fantastic weekend! OH, and that you had a good valentines day :) what did YOU guys do for the holiday? i bought a shitton of peanut m&ms, and i ate the whole thing while watching love actually.

*sigh*

FABULOUS WEEKEND.

love you guys to death! thanks for the reviews, and please, feel free to click the review button right below and leave me another one, cause i love 'em, and they inspire me to type faster and harder and better! have a good one, guys!!

**love;** ellah!


	11. Jiggly Bosoms In Sheer White Tank Tops

**Chapter Ten**

Jiggly Bosoms In Sheer White Tank Tops

**(Ryan)**

"You think she can find the place okay?"

Chip shot a scathing look over at me, arms crossed in front of his chest. "For the tenth time. **Yes**. Stop it, Ryan."

I bounced back and forth, from one heel to the other, hands fidgeting nervously in my sweater pocket - gah, I couldn't _help_ it! "Sorry. Sorry, Chip. It's just the directions I gave were kind of vague, you know? I don't know .. should I call her? Should I maybe go wait out on the end of the block, so she'll see where to turn? Yeah, that would be a good idea, I should do that. Do you think I should? Chip? Should I?"

"I'm sure she'll be _fine_, Ryan, Just _fine_."

"I should call, just in case," I said distractedly, quickly tugging my iPhone from out of my pants pocket.

Chip growled irritably, and snapped the phone out of my hand with lightening quick speed - which may I say, was pretty impressive for a fifty-somethin' year old guy. He popped it smoothly into his cardigan's pocket and glared at me, arms folded peevishly across his chest once more.

"Stop it," he scolded, eyes narrowed crossly. "Stop it, stop it, **stop it**."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

I was a good half a foot taller than Chip, but I felt tiny and powerless under his glare of irritability. True story, ya'll - annoyed Psychics are some **very** _scary_ mother fudgers. Yikes.

"She'll be here any minute now," he chided, motioning out to the empty street with his chin. "If she were lost, she'd _call_. We told her to be here at three o'clock. It's only five to three _now_. We were done early. You need to take a chill pill, Ryan. Take a deep breath, inhaaaaale, do it with me now, inhaaaaale - _and_ ... exhale. Blowwww it out."

I did as he said, but the knot in my stomach was still tight and rough in the pit of my gut.

"Much better," I nodded.

"Liar," Chip muttered, plopping down in the wicker porch chair. "I don't know who's more nervous, her or you."

"I'm not nervous," I lied. "I'm just .. anxious. Anxious for her to get here, so I know she's not lost."

"Yeah right," Chip said, with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm not nervous," I repeated. "I'm not at all."

Alright, I admit it - that was a little lie. Err .. _big_, lie. **Big** lie.

I was nervous. _More_ than nervous, actually. I'd been **literally** shitting my pants_ all _week, waiting for this day to come. Initially, when Chip had approached me with the idea of Harlow doing a walk-through on this case (simply, Chip said, to help alleviate some of that tension and pressure on her poor, sexy as hell brain that was caused from the years of spirit repression she'd forced herself to undergo), I was absolutely _estatic._ A new, allegedly outstanding and apparently universally-unmatched-in-her-abilities Medium, as _well_ as Chip Coffey. Seriously. Could my luck have gotten **any** better?

The only foreseeable problem was the high possibility factor of me being unable to do _my_ job properly. Due, of course, to the fact that Harlow and her sickeningly gorgeous **everything** was going to be in my presence all through out the investigation. You see what I mean? How am I supposed to concentrate on ridding this house of negative energy, when I couldn't rid my brain of _her_? How the **Hell** was I supposed to focus?

I mean, I think it was safe to say, that there were some pretty _intense_ feelings in me for Harlow. I mean, the mere _presence_ of her alone made every square inch of my body and my brain go absolutely **insane**. She was like a shock of electricity to my otherwise mundane days - she was like a blast of cold air in the Sahara desert. She had the ability to send me into a full body flailing, writhing orgasm with as little as a small smile from across the room. She was unstoppable - she owned every part of me. My heart, my brain, my lungs, my eyes .. **everything.** The feelings I had for her were mind-numbingly, air-out-of-your-lungs, heart crushingly severe, and up until this week (well, potentially), I thought they were going to be forever unchanging.

Let me explain.

The more I let myself dwell on the fact that Harlow would soon be with Chip and I on a case walk-through, the more nervous I became. Once I really considered it, and looked at all the possible outcomes of this investigation - that's when my anxiety rose to alarming levels. The more and more I thought about it, the more and more terrified I became.

What if she wasn't all that she was cracked up to be? What if she arrived here, on this doorstep, in all her maddening beauty and arousingly sweet smells, with her tight little bum and curvaciously stunning body, and turned out to be a completely, undeniably, horribly pathetic Medium flake? One of those people who thought they had great talent, but really, turned out to just be complete nobodies? What if Harlow's brilliant gift had somehow worn off over the years? What if the repression she'd forced herself to undergo had really worked - what if she was no longer a talented medium, but instead, just some gorgeous, athletic young woman who's gift had disappeared?

It was horrendous. I couldn't bare to think of it, to imagine what would happen if that were the case. Would my feelings still be the same for her? I mean, they had been strong _before_ I knew about her ability. But what about now, after so much hype, so much excitement - what if it was all just a big letdown? It tore me up to think about it.

What I needed, was **time**. Time to think, time to really consider if this was a good idea. I had been stoked all week, but now, the past twenty four hours - I was almost sick to my stomach with fear, because I'd finally moved _past_ the excitement of just being with her. Now, I was actually thinking it through. And realizing, all to quickly might I add, that this might not be the greatest idea. I needed time to rethink.

"Ah, here she is!"

GOD DAMN.

I'd run out of time.

It was too late to back out. Too late to call her off - she was here, only about thirty feet away now. There was no time to rethink this whole thing - there was only the here, the now. God, help us all.

Her sleek, silver car rolled to a stop in front of the home's paved walkway, and her lights dimmed off. There seemed to be no movement inside the vehicle, but behind the tinted windows it was almost impossible to tell. But only seconds after it came to a stop, the driver's side door creaked open and she popped up and out of the car.

Dark hair straight and floating freely behind her, lime green eyes hidden behind an oversized pair of aviators. All I saw was her head, and I almost jizzed in my pants. Oh God. This was going to be the longest day ever.

"Ryan didn't think you'd find it," Chip called, and I shot him a '_OH GOD DON'T SAY THAT OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD' _look.

"No, no I didn't!" I denied slightly frantically, as she made her way around her car - oh God, tight blue jeans. Curse you, Levi's, for having the ability to cut a pair of denim so beautifully, it hugs every inch of skin on that woman's legs - oh _Jesus_.

"Don't you have faith in me?" she called with a laugh, slinging her purse over her thin shoulder.

Oh God, baggy white tank top. Oh God. Boob Jiggles **galore** at 3 o'clock, oh Sweet Mother Mary.

"All the faith in the world," I said, trying to fight the dopey smile that was surely stretched across my dim face. "I would've called if I didn't, right?"

She grinned, teeth dazzling and the coconutty vanilla smell wafting up sensually through my nostrils. The heels on her boots _click clacked_ up the first, second, third and fourth stair, until she stood right next to me on the open roofed porch.

Inexplicably, the knot in my stomach eased a bit, and I was calmer than I'd been before. Sure, maybe I was about to receive the biggest disappointment of my life. But! I very well may be about to experience the most amazing thing in my life too, right? You just didn't know, and I wasn't gonna stand here and sweat the little things. In fact, I didn't even care anymore. Nope. Not even a lil' bit. All I wanted to do - and frankly, I don't think anyone could blame me for it - was just stand here, and stare at her. Just stare. And maybe hug a little. And touch. And a little bit of groping.

No, not groping.

Okay, groping.

No.

No, not groping -

lovingly caress.

Yes. Lovingly caress her boob with my face.

Oh God, Oh God, at _eaaaaase_, Captain Erect-A-Lot. What she did to me, my _God_ she'd never know.

"You excited?" Chip asked Harlow happily, and I frowned as she winced - I wanted to grab her face and kiss the wince better. I **really** had to get a hold on myself, dear Lord.

"I don't know if excited is the word," she said softly. "But I'm ready."

"You ever done a walk through before?" I asked her, my brain (thankfully) snapping out of it's coconutty tight assed induced, Harlowrific funk long enough for me to string one complete sentence together.

She shook her head, and pulled her Aviators off, squinting slightly away from the bright, mid-afternoon sun. "Never."

"I've told you, it's easy," Chip said cheerfully. "You're a natural, Lo. You can do it!"

"I hope so," she said quietly, and I could see a little bit of anxiety on that remarkable face.

"I know you can do it," I reassured her, putting a hand lightly on the small of her back - Christ, her t-shirt was thin, I could almost feel her warm skin! God, who'dve known that back skin could be so God damn enticing? DAYUM.

She smiled slightly at the light (and hopefully not awkward) touch, and fell very slowly and subtly against my side. I felt her warm, hard body against mine, and her right hand pointer and middle finger clench softly and with impressive slyness around the back of leg, a couple of inches below my bum. HOLY SHIT, SHE WAS TWO FINGER ONE THUMB CARESSING THE BACK OF MY THIGH. I'm not even joking! Holy mother of God, _thank youuuuuu_, Jesus!

"Hnnahh hah," I said to Chip, attempting to control the full-bodied lusty spasm happening in the front of my jeans.

Harlow giggled, cheek against my upper arm, slight frame curled with subtle ease into my side. Oh God, she was good.

"What, am I missin' somethin'?" Chip joked, rising from his comfortable wicker seat. "I'm always outta the loop, I tell ya."

Harlow laughed, unfurling her fingers from their very welcome spot near my inner thigh - _dammit!_ "Nervous laughter, that's all."

Chip looked at the two of us, Harlow close to my side, me undoubtedly tomato red, and gave us both the fish eye. "You two .. forgettin' to tell me somethin'?"

Harlow shook her head, leaning a little farther away from my side - oh _man_. :(

"Are we walking through together?" she asked innocently, looking at Chip with her bright, round eyes.

Chip shot one more fishy glance at me, but shook his head and turned to her. "I've already walked through, Ryan's got a good page, page and half on the things I picked up on. It's your turn now."

Her face noticeably whitened, but she nodded. "Okay."

The mood shifted immediately, from the casual, slightly flirty but professional feel to a more anxious, dreaded uneasiness. We all stood in silence for a moment, as Harlow looked curiously at the large, oaken front door to my right. Her eyebrows furrowed, mouth downturned. She left my side, walking cautiously to the door.

"Are we going in?" she asked politely, looking back at me then to Chip. "Or are we waiting for someone?"

"Let's go," I said, motioning to the brass doorknob. "Ladies first."

She twisted the knob carefully and the door creaked open, revealing the Peever's beautiful front foyer. Tall, beamed ceilings and a curved, wooden staircase that disappeared above the room's roof after the twenty third step. A hallway to your front, a closet to your right and the living room to your left. The back of Harlow's head turned inquisitively to the left, then the right, then up towards the ceiling, before she glanced back at Chip and I.

"Is anyone home?"

I shook my head. "Just us."

She nodded, turned back around and stepped gingerly into the front hall.

Chip looked at me, and smiled. "You're about to have your mind blown, Ryan."

I nodded, and watched as Harlow bent over, and proceeded to unzip her chestnut colored ankle high boots. Her bum was the roundest and most fantastic thing I think I'd ever seen in my life, and was staring up at me in all it's apple-bottomed glory. Sweet _Jesus_. I sighed, and put a hand on Chip's shoulder tiredly.

"It already has been, Chip. Already has."

**(Harlow)**

To be completely honest, I was a little worried. The house seemed to be relatively silent.

The front hall I stood in, and the room adjacent and opposite to me were motionless, in both this world and the Inbetween. The stairs were bare, mid-afternoon sun sparkling on the hardwood floorboards. There was a faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the back end of the home, but besides that, I heard or saw little. The house, overall and from what I could tell, was a happy one - unlike some places I'd been, there was no overwhelming feeling of grief or agony or anger. It was just a home, plain and simple.

I peered over my shoulder and saw that Ryan and Chip had slipped into the house quietly behind me. I'd barely even taken notice. Chip's hands were furled anxiously in his scarf, eyes wide and worried. Ryan had a notebook under his arm, pen in his hand, and slight five o'clock shadow marring that ridiculously handsome face. I smiled at the odd pair, unable to help myself.

"You picking up on something?" Ryan asked, an air of calm in that beautifully monotone voice of his - God, I loved it.

I sighed, and shook my hair tiredly out of my eyes. "No, seems pretty quiet .. but give me a second."

He nodded, and I turned back towards the hallway in front of me. It was a kitchen, I could see the corner of the oven on the right of the door, and cabinets all along the far wall. But there was something strange about it. I didn't know what, but there was a feeling, way back in the deepest corners of my brain, that told me whatever problems and disturbances this house was having, the reason to why there was activity at _all_ was rooted somewhere in that kitchen.

This happened often when I was picking up on something - it was like a signal from something in the Inbetween. Sometimes if I looked at a place or a room or an object in which activity was high, the air around the room or object or place would wave, like an old television screen. Sometimes, it would appear to be brighter, to emit a higher glow than it's surrounding rooms. Sometimes, you could hear voices, murky and unclear coming from said things. It all depended on the thing, the place - sometimes, even the time.

But today, the room gave no real sign or hint of it's activity - it was just a sense, in the back of my mind. There was nothing specifically strange about the kitchen. There was just a feeling, deep inside me, that told me I _had_ to go in there if I wanted answers.

"Can I .. can I go in the kitchen?" I asked, looking curiously back at Ryan - it was the first time I was going to follow my Medium instinct in almost fifteen years.

It was _so_ bizarre, actually listenin' to this stupid thing.

He nodded and smiled. "You go wherever you feel you need to."

I smiled back at him, slightly uneasily and walked the ten or so steps down the hall, and into the kitchen. It was bigger than I had thought, but it still seemed cramped. There was only a single tiny little window, above the sink to my right, and it faced the house next door's beigey stucco. Barely any sun came through the panes, the only light in the entire room coming from the artificial, pulsing bulbs above us.

I turned to the right corner of the room, about ten feet away from the doorway, and I had a sudden and unexplainable tear of fear strike right through my heart - I was _definitely_ right about the kitchen. It felt like a current of electricity had just run up my body, from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. I stared, wide-eyed at the corner, the air stuck in my lungs, the beating of my heart fast and painful.

"You alright?" Ryan asked from behind me, stepping into the kitchen and following my gaze to the corner. "What're you looking at? The fridge?"

I shook my head, trying to find my voice. "That wasn't there before," I managed to squeak out.

Ryan frowned. "What wasn't?"

"This," I said, motioning to the wall beside me, all the way down to the back corner but my eyes unable - or perhaps, _unwilling_ - to move away from the fridge corner. "This wall, from the doorway here, back to behind the fridge - it wasn't here before. They must have added this when they moved in here."

"Who's they?" Ryan asked.

"The people who live here now," I said, touching the wall gingerly with my fingers. "Or the people before them did, or someone ... this wall wasn't here before."

"How do you know that?" he asked gently.

"Because there's a little boy standing behind the fridge," I said simply. "Behind, as in he's _in_ the wall. He's just standing there."

I looked up at Ryan, next to me in the kitchen, and his face was pale, brow furrowed.

He cleared his throat, scribbling in his notebook with impressive speed. "_In_ the wall?"

I nodded, and looked back at the end of the wall, near the fridge, frowning. "Yeah .. it's strange. It's kind of like .. x-ray vision, or somethin'. I can see him, standing in the wall. I can't see any features. I just know he's about this tall, he's looking at the opposite wall, that one right there. He's like a shadow, just opaque .. and he's ... he's not talking."

It was frustrating - I could see this, and I could understand it so clearly in my head. But I couldn't explain it. Couldn't explain the sight of this strange, opaque but featureless boy only feet away from me. It infuriated me - how was I supposed to help Ryan with this case if I can't make sense of it to begin with?

God _damn_ you, strange wall boy!

I frowned, moving slowly towards the fridge. I concentrated, as hard as I could, on the boy in the wall. He remained still, unmoving. He didn't speak, but there was a strange, rasping, rattling noise. I didn't know if it was coming from him or if was something in the house - a furnace or rattly pipes, something like that. The closer I got to the fridge, the louder it became. I could see how tall he was, that he was thin, his silhouette. But the shape was just shadowy, black. A mass with no distinguishing features. Like a black, cardboard cutout.

"Can you hear me?" I said softly, staring at the wall, moving closer to the boy.

I jumped a little, as he flinched slightly and retreated back a couple inches, even further behind the fridge.

"Did he say something?" Ryan asked, and I shook my head.

"He's not saying anything," I said, with a frown. "It's like he can't even hear me. Hello? _Hello_? Can you hear me?"

I took another step or two towards the fridge, and just as I was about to take a third, his head whipped over towards me, lightening quick, and I jumped back nearly a foot, with a tiny little squeak. "Ooh!"

I felt a large hand on the small of my back, and the sweet, musky scent of Old Spice. My heart slowed a little, and I took a deep breath.

"You alright?" Ryan asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"Yeah .. yeah, sorry," I said, with a shake of my head. "Just startled me."

"Did he say something?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, nothing. He just .. wasn't moving, then all of a sudden, just kind of .. turned. Spooked me, that's all."

"Can you see his face or anything?"

I shook my head again. "No .. he's still in the wall."

I took another shaky breath, and padded slowly towards the fridge. His head followed me from my place beside Ryan, to directly in front of him as I walked over and stood in front of the fridge.

"Can you hear me?" I asked again, softly, politely. "Can you nod if you can hear me?"

He didn't move, the room was silent except for the clock ticking and the mysterious rasping, rattly noise. And then .. he raised a hand, and waved.

Hmm. Well, it wasn't a nod, but he seemed friendly enough.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and bent down, balancing on the balls of my feet, my bum resting on my heels. I waved back at him. "Can you tell me your name?"

He raised a hand and made a strange, pinching motion with his pointer, middle and thumb.

I frowned. "I'm .. I'm sorry?"

He pointed to the right side of his face, and then down to his mouth. He was still all shadow, all black - I couldn't tell if his mouth was moving. Fuck, I couldn't even tell if he _had_ a mouth.

I shook my head, and looked at Ryan and Chip helplessly. "It's like .. he's trying to communicate, but I can't make out what he's saying?"

"Words?" Chip asked, frowning.

I shook my head. "No, he's just .. making these weird gestures. Pointing at stuff, he won't talk."

I leaned forward a little, focusing all my attention on the silhouette in the wall. "Can you tell me your name?"

He raised a hand to his mouth, then back to his ear and down to his mouth again. I shook my head.

"Do you know your name?" I asked again.

He raised his pointer finger, then made a fist, shook it twice, then stuck out his pinky and thumb. His pointer went back to his ear, then back down to his mouth. He did that several more times.

Suddenly, it clicked! It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to speak - he just **couldn't**.

I gasped, eyes wide. "Oh!"

"Is he talking?" Ryan asked, looking at the fridge curiously.

"No," I said, with slight relief in my voice. "No, he's mute!"

"Mute?" Ryan repeated.

"Of _course_," Chip said in exasperated relief. "That makes _sense_!"

I turned back to the boy, and rubbed my right palm against my left one, brought both hands together, and pointed to the shadow boy in front of me. He clapped his hands together, and began to sign quickly and feverishly.

"You know sign language?" Ryan asked, impressed.

I sighed, shaking my head. "No, my sign language is pretty limited. I know how to do the Napoleon Dynamite hand motions to 'The Rose', and I know a bit of the alphabet. But I'm not sure motions to Bette Midler songs or the letters 'Y', 'T', 'A' and 'N' are going to help me out here. I don't suppose either of you know any?"

They both shook their head, and I turned back to the young boy, frustrated.

I shook my head, and made the same three finger grasp he'd made before - it meant _no_. He stopped signing, and looked at me, head slightly tilted.

I pointed at myself, made the 'no' grasp again, and moved my pointer fingers in clockwise circles. "I can't sign," I said, wishing he could hear me.

He seemed to understand, as he nodded.

I motioned for him to come closer to me, move out from behind the wall. "Come," I said softly. "Please come."

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, as the silhouette budged and staggered forward, uncertainly and uneasily, like a newborn deer. The closer he came, the clearer he became. He was dark, black as a shadow at first, then a shape grew more solid, than features, blurred, but coming in to focus more as he moved forward, and then -

"Shit!" I gasped, falling back on my bum on the cold linoleum floor behind me.

Ryan was next to me in a second, hand on my shoulder. "You alright? Can you stand? Are you okay?"

I couldn't speak - my eyes were glued to the boy in front of me.

"Holy shit," I managed to choke out.

"What?" Ryan asked, looking at me, then back to the fridge, then back at me again.

"Holy mother of God," I said again, tearing my eyes away from him, and over to Chip. "Chip .. can .. can you see it?"

Chip shook his head, eyes wide. "No, but I can see the aura."

"What's the matter?" Ryan asked, looking between Chip and I in confusion.

"He's .. he's burnt," I said, terrified. "Everywhere .. oh my God, he's _burnt_."

"Burnt?" Ryan repeated, and looked over at Chip. Chip shrugged, and shook his head.

"I can't see it," he said, holding his hands up defensively. "I can just see a blur, where he's standing. The aura around him, he's putting up a pretty strong defense system."

I tried to focus my thoughts and energy on the boy again, but his appearance had shook me. I don't know _what_ I was expecting .. but this definitely wasn't it. His flesh, all the way from the bottom of his short clad legs, up and down his arms and twisted like a rope around his neck and up the right side of his face, pink and purple raw tinged flesh. Rough and gnarled, his flesh was knotted and charred, it looked like browny purple leather all over his body.

I could've vomited, my _God_. I took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the severely mangled boy in front of me. I looked at Ryan, and nodded towards his notebook.

"I'll tell you what he looks like," I said, my voice shaking embarrassingly - Ryan clicked his pen and looked at me intently. "Well .. he's a boy. And, apparently, he's a burn victim. I'd say the burns cover ... a good 80, 85 percent of his body. He .. he looks about 4'7, 4'8. About _here_ on me. Probably no older than ten, no younger than seven. There's .. there's a bit of hair left on his head. It's blonde, dirty blonde. His eyes .. eye, actually. He's only got one left, his left eye. It's .. it looks blue. Light blue, closer to grey than any actual blueish tone. He's wearing clothing, it's not burnt at all, though. Khaki shorts. red plaid shirt. Button up, shorter sleeves. He's got no shoes on, and .. God, oh God. His feet look like flippers, Jesus _Christ_. His toes have kind of ... melted together."

I looked at Chip and shook my head, feeling nauseous simply at the sight of the poor boy. "How am I supposed to communicate with him?"

Chip frowned, and motioned towards the charred little boy five feet in front of me. "Try to .. get in his head."

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly, and looked back at the boy, wincing slightly. The poor thing .. he was looking at me, his one little good eye narrowed. He looked like he was ready to cry.

I smiled, hoping it looked more motivational than disgusted.

I pointed at him, and then motioned to house around me. "Did you ... _live_ here?"

He nodded, then made a fist and pointed to his molten mouth, then up to his mangled ear. He did it again.

"He pointed at his mouth, then up at his ear, kind of like this," I said, showing Ryan and Chip. "He lived here, I think."

I turned back to him, frowning. "I wish I could understand you better .. "

I plopped down on the ground in front of him, and he mimicked me, plopping down a couple feet away from me. I smiled and laughed, and I saw the good half of his mouth turn up, in a grin. He had only one tooth that I could see, the rest seemed to have fallen out.

"He's got one tooth that I can see," I said. "Either he lost the others ones when he died, or he'd begun losing them. He's got this one," I pointed to my own. "Front teeth are gone, I can't see the right side of his mouth anyways. One cuspid tooth, one lateral incisor. I can't see the bottom row, if there even **is** one .. his lips .. well, they're not there anymore, they're just apart of his face. It's .. it's really gnarly, Ryan. I've never seen anything this bad before."

I motioned to my own face, then at the boy's. "Ouch," I said, tapping a hand against my cheek, and over my arms. "How did you get these?"

He looked at me, eye narrowed in confusion. He pointed at his own arms, and his face, at his burns.

I nodded. "How?" I mouthed.

He pointed to the floor, tapping it lightly.

"The cellar?" I said, motioning down to the floor. "The basement?"

He nodded. He threw his hands into the air, and I realized, with a great shock of horror, that the grunting, rasping noise I'd heard before was coming from him. His gnarled breath, escaping from his melted mouth. He made big motions with his arms and hands.

"Boom," I said, mimicking his hand movements. "Explosion?"

He cocked his head curiously. I searched around the room, frantically. "I need .. a piece of paper, and a pen, or a marker, or something."

Ryan ripped a piece of paper off his notepad and handed it to me. Chip scowered the kitchen table, and tossed me a thick, black, permanent marker from the top of it.

I wrote in big, thick, black letters** 'EXPLOSION?'**, and turned the paper to the boy. He nodded quickly, and made the big motions with his hands once more. I scribbled the word **'IN THE CELLAR?' **beneath 'explosion', and turned it to him again. He nodded again, frantically, and pointed at himself, then motioned to walls around him. He made the movement again, making a fist and moving it from his mouth to his ear.

"He keeps making a motion like this," I said, mimicking it for Chip and Ryan. "I think .. I think it means home? Or house, or .. or something like that. This was his home. He keeps going like this, like an explosion. And I wrote the word down and he nodded, and pointed to the basement. So .. there must have been an explosion in the basement here, and ... he must have been in it."

"Can you get a date?" Ryan asked, looking slightly apologetically at me.

I sighed, with a frown. "I can try."

I looked back at the boy. He was looking at me curiously. I glanced behind him, and noticed a bunch of those bright, letter and number magnets on the fridge behind him.

I clapped in excitement, and held up a finger. The boy nodded, and I stood up quickly and grabbed as many numbers and letters as I could from the fridge. I could hear his rasping gurgles from behind me, feel his one eye's gaze as I peeled the magnets from the door.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked with interest.

"He can't hear me, and he can't talk," I said, gathering the magnets quickly from the door of the fridge. "But he can read, he could read the word 'explosion', so I'm thinking he can probably spell too. If I lie these out .. like _this_ .. he can point, or he can move them. We can't communicate verbally, so we have to do it like this."

I put the letters alphabetically in a line in front of me and the young boy, and then the numbers, 0 through till 9, right below the letters. I pulled the cap off the marker again, and scribbled - almost illegibly in my excitement - across the bottom of the paper.

**'CAN YOU POINT AND SPELL OUT YOUR ANSWERS?',** I wrote. He looked at it, and nodded.

"I need another piece of paper," I said to Ryan, and he ripped me a fresh one out of his book.

In small, and attempted neat writing, I wrote **'Your Name'.**

The boy looked at it, and leaned forward. He tapped on the D, A, N, N again and Y, with his charred, nubbly pointer finger.

"Danny," I said to Ryan. "Danny .. P, r, i, t, c, h. Pritch. Danny Pritch."

**'Daniel?'** I wrote beneath the first line. He looked at it and nodded.

"Short for Daniel," I said.

**'When were you born?'**

"May 10th, 1942," I said, watching the little pink, gnarled finger move quick and efficiently over the letters.

**'Parents Names?'**

"Dora and Alex Pritch," I said, following his quick movements. "Brother ... Sam. Short for Samuel. No sisters."

Ryan was writing feverishly, hand flying back and forth over his book.

**'When did you die?'**

He didn't move for a moment, looking carefully at the question. He looked up at me, and I smiled apologetically. 'Sorry', I mouthed.

He nodded.

"June 13th, 1952," I said. "He died then, June 13th, 1952 .. in a fire."

**'Where was the fire?'**

"In the basement," I said, frowning.

He moved away from the letter and number magnets, and pointed at the wall behind the fridge, and then down to the floor. He looked at me, expectantly.

"That wall?" I said, confused.

He shook his head, and pointed again to the wall, and then to the floor. He looked at me again, one eye bugged out.

I shrugged my shoulders, and scrawled beneath my last question, '**Show Me**'.

I didn't know what I meant by that, and I don't know how I expected him to know either. But he looked at the words, freshly printed, and then looked up at me. The room was still, the only noise was Danny's gasping, rattling breaths, and Ryan's fast scrawl across the sheet of looseleaf.

Pictures started floating through my head, at rapid speed. Like snapshots, pictures I'd never seen before, memories I'd never taken part in, but things I understood immediately. These were Danny's thoughts, his recollections - his life. He was feeding them to me, from his deceased mind, to my live one.

I can't explain it, and I couldn't even if I tried. But I knew, just knew, all of a sudden and completely inexplicably, what had happened. I knew the old floorplan of the house. I could see it clearly in my head. I knew it was the furnace, the faulty furnace, that had blown. I knew what time of day it was when it happened. I knew what song was on the radio in the kitchen. I knew who was in the house at the time. I knew what time it was when the machine exploded. I knew where I was - where _he_, Danny, was - when it happened. I knew everything. I could see it, through his once good, youthful and live eyes. I could understand what everything was. I knew more information about this house than the owner now probably even did. I knew it all.

The image was so clear. The information untampered with, crisp and meaningful in my head. I took a deep, shuddery breath, and nodded. Danny looked at me, and pointed to the letters 'S', 'E' and then 'E' once more.

"I see," I said softly, nodding. "I see."

He nodded, and gave me a thumbs up.

"What happened?" Ryan asked me, and I jumped at the sound of his voice - I'd forgotten I wasn't alone.

"I got a picture .. in my head," I said, confused. "Pictures, actually. I .. I don't know how. But they're Danny's memories, I think. I can tell you exactly what happened - it was like this big wave of information, or somethin'."

I peered over at Ryan, who was looking in confusion at me. I shook my head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry .. I told you, I'm no good at these walk throughs. But I can tell you what happened. How Danny died."

"You're doing great, Lo," Ryan said encouragingly. "When did Danny die?"

"1952," I said, looking over the image in my head. "In June, he just finished the fifth grade the day before. I can see a bunch of kids out on the street playing - Danny was going to go out on his bike. His dad, Alex, had just installed a new furnace in the basement - I just get a really clear picture of this bright and shiny, chrome kind of furnace. Hawkins, it says it on the side. Capital letters, red print."

I looked over at the fridge, behind Danny, and at the thick, wooden wall.

"This wall, it wasn't here before. This was all open, right to the front door," I said, motioning at them. "I can even draw out the floor plan for you after, if you'd like. I can just .. see it so _clearly_. This was all open area, and the staircase wasn't where it is now, it was here. There was no basement door, just a hole in the floor with some stairs going down. Only about twelve steps, it's a pretty short distance, short basement from floor to roof. Maybe 2 meters tall? But it was long ... the same exact size as the main floor."

I frowned, piecing together the next parts in my head. "It was Summer, but it was a really bizarre, unseasonably cold day. Danny's mom, Dora, she turned on the furnace, and it was kicking in. Danny's brother, Sam, he wasn't home. At a friend's, I think. Down the block. Dora was outside, hanging up laundry. Danny was in the basement."

I saw it, and I could feel it, the heat, everywhere. "Something must have happened with the furnace, it must have been faulty .. there was pressure on the bottom gauge. It's got a red handle on it, I don't know, but it's that part down at the bottom. Red handle, and the piece is flat, maybe about an inch thick, seven little pokey things sticking out the side of it. Looks like a buzz saw blade. It started sparking, and Danny saw it, and he was walking to go tell Dora, and ... it just blew."

I heard the roaring in my ears, saw a picture in the back of my mind, of the entire basement, or what I assumed to be the basement, engulfed entirely in flames. Like a tunnel, filled with the inferno. It was like I was still here, in today and in the now, but I was remembering all this information. Like when you're telling someone about a movie you just saw. You can see the movie happening in your mind - you can see every car chase, every beach side scene, everything. It was the same for me - I could see all of this, like it was a movie that I'd seen a million times in theatres. Just that it wasn't. It was real. The pictures were real. The facts were real. The voices, they were real. The screams, the cries. This wasn't a movie, this was life.

"He was maybe fifteen feet from it," I said, hands closing convulsively in my lap. "His right side was towards the furnace, left facing the door. That's why .. I think that's why the majority of burns are on his right side. The initial blast must've done instant damage."

I heard the screams - not his, he couldn't speak, had no voice. They were a woman's screams.

"And she screamed for him," I said quietly. "Dora .. I can hear her voice. She was outside, and she heard it, and she saw the fire .. and she tried to get him, tried to get Danny. I can't see her, but I can hear her calling for him, and she was outside hanging up laundry when it blew. It's not his memory, this part .. he can't hear her, never did. But the house - her screaming is still in the house, it's stuck in these walls."

I could see the pain, not feel it - it was bizarre.

"He didn't die right away," I said, trying to shake the images out of my brain. "He was far enough away that it didn't kill him instantly. He was alive a good two, three minutes before the fumes knocked him out. He can't speak, and he can't hear .. he couldn't even call for help."

"What about the Mother?" Ryan asked softly.

I frowned in concentration. "Dead. Fire got her too, she couldn't get back out once she'd gone in. I think .. when they put it out. She would have been found around here, this spot I'm sitting. Face down, left arm out, right arm underneath her. Give or take a few feet. He was in the basement, probably about four meters from the stairs. Fetal position. Cause of death would have been carbon monoxide poisoning for her. Combination of poisoning and actual damage from the fire for Danny - probably listed as carbon monoxide on the death certificate, but it was more shock than anything."

"If she'd gotten to him, would he have survived?" Ryan asked.

I pondered that question, and looked back at the memories he'd given me. "No. I don't think he would have. I think ... the damage would've been too severe. Even if he'd been an extra fifteen feet away. The heat and the initial explosion would've been too much."

I sniffed, as more images flooded into the back of my brain. "The lady that lives in this house now .. she probably hears music a lot, doesn't she?"

Ryan looked at Chip, and Chip shook his head, a simply flabbergasted look on his face.

"Yes," Ryan confirmed. "Yeah."

"Unforgettable," I said, biting my lip absentmindedly. "By Nat King Cole. It was number one in 1952, that's what was playing on the radio in the kitchen. The lady that lives here now, she must hear that all the time."

"Is that Danny's memory?" Chip asked.

I shook my head. "It can't be .. he was never able to hear music. I think it's stuck in the house's memory. Because I can hear the mom screaming, and that's obviously not Danny's memory. I heard a big explosion, then screams .. and then a fire, and over the fire, I can hear 'Unforgettable'. And then it just goes dead."

I shuddered - it was a creepy memory. The crackling and sizzling of fire. The haunting voice above it all. _That's why darling, it's incredible, that someone so unforgettable, thinks that I am unforgettable too .._

"The house has a memory?" Ryan asked.

I nodded. "It's imprinted into the walls, forever. It's something tragic that happened here, and it's going to be here for all of eternity."

I looked around the room, more images clogging my mind. "The back of the home burnt down. The basement was destroyed, the kitchen and dining room gutted. I don't know what happened to the Dad or the other son. The extent of the information is what Danny was alive for, mainly. Then it gets fuzzy. But .. the back of the home was demolished. The front was relatively intact, infact it looked near perfect. You never would've known the place was ravaged by a fire by looking at the front alone. The explosion must've been in the South of the building, that's where the furnace must have been located."

I sighed, and ran a hand through my hair. "That's all I got about the fire."

Ryan finished writing, and dropped his pen, shaking his hand and grimacing. "Is that why he's still here? Because of the fire?"

I turned to Danny, who'd been sitting patiently and unflinchingly the entire time I'd explained to Ryan what I saw. He was a statue, a mangled, blackened by flames statue. He looked over at me, and nodded.

I took the pen, and wrote on the scrap paper:

'**Why are you still here?'**

He looked at it, and moved quickly and without thought over to the magnets.

"Laura," I said.

"Who's Laura?" Ryan asked softly, I could feel his eyes staring through the back of my skull.

**'Who is Laura?'**

Danny looked at me, and flinched. A picture flew through my brain, fast but clear.

"She lives here," I said. "By herself. She's about my height, a little taller, maybe. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Very skinny, very very skinny. She's got a really long neck, and really straight teeth. She always wears her hair in a bun. Danny's here for Laura. She must be the person who lives here now."

"Why is he here for Laura?" Ryan asked.

But he had already answered. I shook my head at his answer, and looked at him carefully.

"She doesn't," I said softly. "No."

He nodded his head furiously, and pointed to the six letters over and over, tapping the ground.

"What's he saying?" Chip asked.

I stared at the boy for a moment, still unable to take in that mangled face, but sighed.

'**Show Them**', was all I wrote.

"What does that mean?" Ryan asked in confusion.

"Just watch," I said quietly.

I focused on his hands, the stumps of gnarled pinky flesh, and I watched carefully as he leaned forward, and began to move the letters out of line, and into a row above.

"Holy .. fucking .. _shit_," I heard Ryan mutter behind me.

**N E E D M E**

**(Chip)**

Clear as day, no bones about - the letter magnets had moved. Harlow's hands had been clenched in her lap, tightly folded into each other. I saw it. Ryan saw it. Harlow knew it was going to happen.

And now we sat quietly in the dining room of the house. A quaint, but brightly lit room that was a nice contrast to the rest of the relatively dark home. There were big, beautiful windows everywhere in the room, the sun was beating in brilliantly, the light making the otherwise dark and dreary atmosphere somewhat bearable.

In front of us, was page after page of notes Ryan had gotten from Harlow. Pages and pages of his slanted print, crammed onto every line and in every corner, all up and down the margins. Added notes on top of added notes, diagrams, names and dates of birth and death. All from Harlow, from her thirty minute conversation with the entity that I couldn't even _see._

We all sat at Laura's dining room table, and we had been for about half an hour now. I'd put the kettle on, and we'd seated ourselves (Harlow on one side, Ryan next to her and myself opposite of them) comfortably around the dark, pine table.

Across from me, arms almost touching, Ryan and Harlow sat in comfortable silence, Ryan's gaze flickering over to Lo every minute or so, her own eyes sweeping over to him every now and then. When they'd catch each other's gaze, they'd both flush and look away in embarrassment. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at the two of them - dear old Ryan and Harlow, twenty six and twenty-five, respectively, acting like a pair of awkward, nervous little preteen nerds. **Adorable!**

"Where is he now?" Ryan asked, looking at me, then at Harlow.

I frowned, and concentrated on the house. "Kitchen?" I guessed, and looked across the table at Lo.

She took a sweeping glance into the kitchen, brow furrowed. "Behind the fridge again."

Ryan nodded, taking a shaky breath. "Laura's coming home in about an hour or so. I'll stay a bit longer and explain some of the stuff we found out, but tomorrow we'll have a sit down meeting with her, once the crew processes and cross checks the information we got today."

I nodded, but Harlow was distracted, gaze looking out into the backyard. Her warm, tanned skin was slightly pale, clammy looking. Her eyes were glassy, distracted.

"You alright?" I asked her, and I saw Ryan look over at her too.

Her eyes flitted back onto me, and she smiled and nodded. "I'm fine, yeah."

"You look a bit distant," I said. "You gettin' a cold?"

"I'm not," she denied. "I'm just .. tired."

"Tired?" Ryan asked, and she looked up at him and nodded.

He was looking down his nose at her, corners of his mouth turned up slightly. She was smiling at him, face only inches away from his broad shoulder.

"Just a little," she said softly.

"Didn't sleep last night?" he asked.

"I did," she said, with a little frown. "I was feeling fine this morning, I'm just .. drained. I feel wiped out."

I laughed, and patted her hand from across the table. "It's because of the walk through. It drains you, mentally and on occasion, physically."

She sighed. "That makes sense, I guess. I feel sluggish."

I nodded. "It's just awful sometimes, especially if the spirit you've been communicating with has been malevolent in anyway. Pains and drains of being a Medium."

She looked at me, fake pout on her remarkable face. "I don't see _you_ all pooped out and energyless."

I grinned, and spread my arms open snarkily. "That's because I'm a _pro_, young Grasshopper."

She laughed, but yawned mid-giggle. "Ugh, I wish I was too. Teach me everything you know, Chippy."

"You already almost known as much as I do," I said, with a little wink. "It'll take time, Lo. The more walk-throughs and readings you do, the easier they become. The less tiring, the less draining."

She nodded, and rested her chin on her palm. "I hope so, Chippers."

I stood from the table, empty mug dangling in my hand. "You'll be alright. You done with your cup, Harlow?"

She nodded, and handed her empty glass over. "Thanks."

"You done?" I asked Ryan, and he shook his head, moving the glass a bit closer to him.

"Couple more sips, I can bring it in after. Thanks though," he said, with an appreciative smile.

I nodded, and stepped cheerfully away from the room, and in towards the dimly lit kitchen. "Well, I'm just going to run these under the taps, put 'em in the dishwasher. Hate to leave a mess. I've got to get going, soon."

"Do you need a lift back to the hotel?" Harlow asked, folding her hands daintily in front of her. "I've got to get going as well in the next little bit."

"I'd appreciate it," I said happily. "Thanks, Lo!"

She grinned. "Just lemme know when you're ready."

I nodded, and excused myself from the room, sliding into the kitchen quietly. I made sure to thump over to the sink, and pop the tap on as loudly as I could. I dumped the cups carefully under the running tap, and sidled back over sneakily to the edge of the dining room door frame.

Alright, _fiiiiiine_. I didn't care about leaving a mess. I wanted to eavesdrop. To be honest, being a Medium my whole life had made me somewhat of a Nosy Nelly. I was just so used to hearing what all the spirits said and were thinking, that I think the whole all-knowing thing had just sorta ... rubbed off on me.

I knew there was somethin' going on between the two of them. But if there were ever two more secretive people in the world than Ryan and Harlow, I know I'd never met them. The only possibility of them letting anything slip in this house, is if I wasn't around to witness it. So reallllly - I _had_ to spy! It was my _only_ choice.

.. Oh, hush up. You know you'd do the same.

From my perch in the kitchen, I could see Ryan, but not Harlow, and just _barely_. If I moved any closer, he'd be able to see me, but if I moved farther away, I wouldn't be able to hear either of them. I stood, still as a statue, and caught the soft conversation coming from their spot at the table.

" - did really good," Ryan said, a little smile on his handsome young face - he was looking at her delightedly.

"Thanks," I heard Harlow say, in that honey smooth voice of hers - I could see her chest, and her arm, nestled unusually close to Ryan. "It was so nerve-racking - I really had no idea what I was doing."

"You did amazingly," he said, and I saw him lower his head closer to hers - his dark brown hair almost touching her milk chocolate colored tresses.

"You're too sweet," she said bashfully, and I heard a flirty little edge in her voice - God, how strange it was coming from her! I'd known this girl since she was six.

"It's nice of you to drive Chip home," he said quietly, and I saw his broad hand lovingly envelope her small one. "When do you have to leave?"

"Soon," she said softly, sadly, taking her free hand and rubbing the top of his gently. "I've got practice at 6:00, until 8:00. Then a term paper due tomorrow - I haven't really started it yet."

"Of course you haven't," he laughed, cheek nestled against the top of her head. "Procrastinator."

"Am not," she denied, and I could see a small little grin light up on her face.

"You are too," he said jokingly.

"Not always," she said quietly, and I saw (with sheer freakin' delight!) her lift her head, and press those plush pink lips against his own.

It was soft and sweet, innocent as two young, high school sweethearts. But there was passion hidden away in there - her chest pressed against his arm, his right hand poised loosely on the nape of her neck.

I grabbed my chest, and rolled away from the counter, back towards the sink. So they **were** together, those sneaky little buggers! I tip-toed back to the sink, popping the tap back down. I shook the mugs, and perched them in the drying rack next to the sink.

I knew it, I knew it, I **knew** it!

There was something in the air, something between the two of them, and there had been _all_ day. I'd sensed it from the moment she'd driven up! The atmosphere around them when they looked at each other, the tension in the room when it wasn't just the two of them on their own, the ... the pure, thick and irrevocably lustful way they looked at each other. The way he looked at her, with his full attention and complete and total sincere interest. The way she stayed so close to him, as if she was afraid to let him leave her sights for even a moment, her earnest and obvious enjoyment of his company.

My _Goddddd,_ they were **sooooo** _dreamy_!

I made sure to thump around a bit, before I snuck back into the dining room where the two lovey dovey birds were seated. They'd broken apart, how long ago I wasn't sure, and were seated a little farther apart than they had been before. Harlow's face was impervious, unbothered and politely interested. Ryan looked a bit like a tomato. A cute tomato. But a tomato.

"Did I miss anything?" I asked casually, taking a seat back in my creaky wooden chair.

"Nothing really," Harlow sighed. "Just Ryan laughing at my inability to write essays on time."

"Not laughing at it," he said fairly. "Cheerfully noting."

She grinned, and he and I both laughed. I saw a quick exchange of glances between the two of them, as Harlow leaned back into her chair, and Ryan moved slightly farther away from her thin side. I don't know who they thought they were fooling - my _God_ they sucked at subtlety.

"You guys sure I didn't miss anything?" I asked again, looking rather knowingly between the two of them.

Ryan shook his head, avoiding eye contact with me, while Harlow simply smiled, looking cheerfully at me.

"Naw," she said plainly. "Nothin' new, anyways."

* * *

**Authors Note: **Helllllooooo, lovely readers!

Alright. Before you get mad and start throwing things at my face, let me explain why it took forever to update, as I'm sure a lot of you will be able to relate to this story. So, I had actually finished this chapter about .. a week ago. Little less than a week, actually. I was soooo excited. All I had to do was do a little editing and tweaking and post it up on this wonderful site we call FF. But of course, the day I go on to start spell checkin' and junk, it says "Cannot Connect to Internet" everytime I try and get on there. So I was furious, as I should be. So I go downstairs, only to see my Dad poking around the back of the tower. And my heart just sunk.

See, my dad's the kind of guy, who thinks - **thinks** - he's really good at fixing things. If you're like "Oh, the bath tub is taking a while to drain". He's right up there with pliers, a napkin and a bottle of coke. Nevermind Drain-o. If you say "oh, I wish I had more room in my closet". He's in your closet, with toilet paper rolls smashed together with paper mache and electrical tape, attempting to hang pants off it. If you're like "oh, I wish I could rebuild these back steps", he's out there with a hammer and tape and some pieces of wood he found floating in the river. He tries, reeeeally hard. But he's just ... not that great at fixing things. Not very handy. An **awesome** Dad. But he is no Mike Holmes.

So. As you can imagine, he attempted to fix the tower. Six days later, it came back from the shop. And here I am today, reeling from lack of FanFic, Twitter and all that fun junk and with a pounding headache from argueing with my dear ol' Pa about how he's not allowed to touch the modem anymore. Ever. If something happens, he is banned from touching it, forever. Jeeze louise.

Anyways! That's why it's taken forever for this update. I swear, not my fault, and the next chapter will come in the next ... 10 days. I am going to try my hardest to reach that deadline.

The next chapter will explain a little more about why the little boy's haunting the home, but I could only fit so much into one chapter, you know? Anyways! I'm stoked to hear all of your opinions on Chad and Chip and everything. I'm definitely including Chad, within the next couple of chapters, most likely. Now! I have another question for you lovely lovelies! **What are your feelings on Michelle Belanger?** I hated her at first. But now, I love her to bits. I think she's just fabulous, with her tight black clothing and choppy, multi colored hair. Seriously, she's a Psychic Vampire. Hello? Anybody that claims to be a Psychic Vampire should be worshipped like no other, bahahaha. I'd love to know your thoughts on her, though!

Oh good Lord, this is turning into a ridiculously long Author's note, and I haven't even started thanking you guys yet! HERE I GOOOOO!

**PureAngelEyes:** you do not even understand how much money I would pay to see you krump like Marge Simpson, lololol. i'm stoked you liked those parts! because there will definitely be more like it to come :) thanks for the review, bud!

**futureauthor62:** we are both chip fans! that man makes me laugh my ass off, he's just so serious and adorable with his cute little googley eyed glasses. oh squeal!! i'm so stoked you liked the chapter, hope you enjoyed this one too :)

**ferret assassin nin:** ahhh, i love your reviews, they never fail to make my day!! i appreciate the comments and (attempted) criticism! you are outstanding, haha! i can't wait to read your story - y'know, now that i ACTUALLY have a freakin' computer again. i'm exactly like you, man, i always worry my chapters drag on. i'll upload them onto the document thing and it's like "10,792 words", and i'm like AHHH SHATTTTTT. no one's going to read this. it's too long. yet you always come back, and for that, i think we should be best friends or somethin'. I LOVE YOUUUUU! thanks for the review you beautiful, beautiful assassin!

**Purple With A Purpose:** hahaha! i'm so glad you actually understand the quotes! i'll type something that makes me laugh, but i'm always worried no one else will understand it, so i take it out :/ you make my life with your comments, thanks a million bazillion!

**TJToxic:** oh god, i will FIGHT you for heather's platonic love. she is my herooo! she seems a little off .. which i think is why i love her. HERE'S A FAB IDEA. lets meet up and go find ryan and heather and just be their best friends. i have this awesome mental image of us holding their hands and running through a field of daisys. oooh, beautiful! perhaps that'll be my next fic. 'ellah and tj and ryan and heather - friends forevermore in a field of flowers". best idea ever? i think so. (L)

**runnintoxstandstill:** you are hyper. i love you. i love your reviews. i love you and your hyper reviews. that is all, please be my friend forever.

**Stufoo:** skdhiuhaskjnfiue! loved your review! simple and right to the point, you're amazing, haha! you enjoy my humor? i enjoy you. :D

**voll3yg1rl: **bahaha, loved the review! i'm from winnipeg, manitoba. i don't blame you if you don't know where that is. no one ever does, not even people that live here. ahhh, you're not in BC anymore?! lame! you missed the olympics! besides toronto, vancouver is my favourite place in all of the great white north. ahhh, i love bein' a canuck. you totally called this chapter too, i am MIGHTY impressed. hope you have a good one, thanks for the review! it's even better than a steaming plate of chessey, gravy-filled poutine. and THAT'S sayin' something.

**Aangs fangirl1214:** my GODDDDD, you reviews just make my life!! like, did you go to reviewing 101 classes or somethin'? cause you're epitome of perfect reviewer. *grovels at feet* i'm so stoked you liked the chapter! hopefully you like this one just as much, or maybe a little more, haha! thank you thank you thank you! (L) xo love forever, your number one fan, ella!

**kcollins720: **updated! i swear, i'm gonna try and update sooner next time, just for you!

**lindzxcheshire:** WIFEY, I ALMOST DIDN'T RECOGNIZE YOU. where is mad lindz hatter? hmm? NOW YOU ARE CHESHIRE. i'm not gonna lie, here. i drink a lot. remembering you're no longer hatter, this is going to take it's tole on me. i hope you can live with that. JUST KIDDING. i still love you and want to birth your chillens. or, make you birth them. i don't know. whichever one's down with that. i don't know if i'm up for that kinda pain, you seem a lot more ballsy and hardcore than me. and don't worry! i know it seemed like a filler chapter. but it was very necessary to include those parts. especially the first bit. there's some foreshadowing in there, but i'm givin' you no more hints than that. :D LOVE YEWWW.

**ashleymaria:** hellooooo muffin! thank you for the review! hope you're well, and hope you enjoyed the chapter! take care, thanks again bud! (L)

**SurriB:** ahh, glad you liked it! nat, the dumbass on the volleyball team, IS unfortunately based off someone i know in real life. but natalie's a lot smarter. i know. it's terrible. you were deployed?! wait, where?! oh god, i am anxiety ridden now. take care of yourself! the fact that you're still keen to read this after being deployed and having to have it be sent through email makes my heart explode with loooove! you are absolutely, positutely, the most amazing person in the world. you be careful!!

**Kiss Me I Bite:** NEW REVIEWER, HOLAAAAAA!! thank you for that amazing review! it made me laugh and squeal and everythang! you may have fallen in love with the story, but i have fallen in love with YOU! thanks for the review, you hot piece of anonymous author, you!

**heyymelx3: **OH MY GODDDD. if i worked in a store, and i saw eilfie walk through the door, i would shit pounds and pounds of excitement all over the place, jump the counter, and hug/crush her until she called the police - you have much more self restraint than i do! if you ever meet ryan, i want to be told about it immediately. i want all the details. WANNNNNT. you're now my number one resource for all of penn state's PRS happenings. did you go to that open house thing they had? thank you for the review! i adored it, almost as much as i adore you.

OKAY. longest authors note in the history of authors note? maybe. i apologize for my blabbing. i'm just so stoked i finally have the internet again, oh goddd! it's so wonderful! now! before i wrap this thing up, a lot of you i've noticed don't like sophie. and i'm gonna be honest here - you're gonna hate her even more before you like her. but i swear to you guys, sophie will more than make up for being a total bitchface. i just can't tell you how, but i promise she will :) AND. not in this chapter, but in the previous one - at least two or three of you noted how it was kind of a filler chapter - i guarantee you, there was a lot more to it than you'd think. there's a lot of foreshadowing goin' on in there, more than you'd think. that's all the hints i'm givin' though! mwahaha.

thanks again for all your reviews! you guys are just fuckin' amazing. that's all i can even say about you. :) take care guys! have a good beginning of march, woo woo!

**love;** ellah!


	12. Heather DeGeneres Smells Of Teen Spirit

**Chapter Eleven**

Heather DeGeneres Smells Like Teen Spirit

**(Eilfie)**

"I've never seen anything like this."

Josh flipped through the pages and pages of notes we'd gathered for the Peever case, eyes growing wider than I think I'd ever seen them.

He shook his head incredulously, and looked up at me. "How could she have known this?"

I shrugged my shoulders, nestling myself into the ragged, forest green chair. "I don't know. The majority of that information was far from readily accessible. I don't think there's anyway she could've researched this enough to fake it. Not with the amount of time she had, anyways."

Josh simply shook his head again, and stared in silence at the tiny script in front of him. His eyes narrowed the further down the page he went.

At the moment, we were between seasons of Paranormal State. So with our 'free' time, Ryan figured we might as well be put to work all the time. Right now, the main focus of PRS while on break from our busy filming schedule, was to solve and help out as many of the minor cases as we could. The unfortunate thing about a television show, as we soon found out, was that all they _really_ wanted out of us was the pure 'theatrics' of ghost hunting. Only the most _severe_ cases we could come across would they allow us to film for television. And although we understood this, it didn't mean we agreed with the unfairness of it. Because of A&E's strict orders to only take and film the more (as they deemed it) 'important' cases, this unfortunately meant that a lot of people were overlooked. And all simply because of our negotiations and commitment to the network.

So instead of taking breaks while we were on the off seasons of filming, we worked double hard, trying to make up for lost time and trying to help those who really, truly needed it. It's what we had promised ourselves as a group.

Laura Peever was an excellent example of the 'selective cases'. A single woman, in her mid-forties, living alone in a century old house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Never married, one child who passed away nearly a decade ago. Mysterious knocking in the home, funny smells coming from odd places in the house. Screaming could be heard from the basement. Sightings of a small, black shadow figure. Clearly, this wasn't as urgent as a demonic case, or a case where young children are being hurt or harmed - the producers wouldn't want us to waste breath on a case as minor and blase as this. Especially with no reports of actual sightings of shadow people. But demonic or not, the activity in the house was serious enough for this woman to consider relocating. So, that's where we came in.

Neither myself, Josh, Sergey, Heather or Katrina had been to the home. Ryan had gone with Chip and Harlow about forty-eight hours ago to investigate the reported activity and do a psychic walk-through and evaluation of the home. With Chip, we were used to Ryan coming back with one or two pages of information we had to look up. Sometimes he'd hit a jackpot, be able to fill out four or even more sheets on the alleged hauntings in cases. Even with Michelle Belanger, another regular Medium we brought along to locations, there was never a lot more than three pages. Sometimes there was a handful of facts to go off of. Sometimes there were none. We had come to expect little, hope for a lot.

When Ryan had returned from the Friday afternoon walk-through of the Peever home, we had expected a little more than usual, since there were two different mediums going through the home. You know - three or four pages, especially considering how minor of a case it was (activity wise). What we **hadn't** expected, was an entire folder filled with page after page of information Harlow had picked up. And it wasn't just the usual '_I think there was a murder in this house'_, or a '_I sense a lot of repression, especially in the kitchen'_. Oh no.

It was every fact, every minute detail, that could've possibly been produced. It was not just '_there's a young boy that is haunting this home_', as we usually got from the psychic walk-throughs. It was a detailed description of the boy, what his name was, his favorite books, the color of his hair - the somewhat gruesome description of what the boy was wearing in the last moments of his life. There was information on not only _how_ he had died, but how he'd been burnt alive - not to mention all the extensive details **on** said burns. She knew every mark he'd gotten on his last report card. Knew his favorite subject in school was math, and that he wanted to be (ironically enough) a firefighter when he grew up. She'd drawn out the floor plan of the house when the boy lived there. She included all the details, every doorway, window, the type of wood the roof was made of, the original color of the house - where the _spice cabinet_ had been located, for God sakes. She could describe every detail of the boy's face, the exact shade of his eyes. She'd pinpointed what the exact cause of death was, down to the very last toxin. She could match dates up correctly, dates from nearly three decades before she was even born. She could tell us by the second what had happened. She could account the story for every minute that the house had been standing. She could name the brand name of a furnace that had been in this random, Lancaster house almost fifty years ago. She could tell us the maker of the wood used in the basement's support beams. She could mark down to the last millimeter where the bodies were found by the firefighters.

Every tidbit, every fact you needed to piece together this mystery of the Peever's haunting, Harlow had it.

We had split up the research and cross-checking amongst our small group of five. I was in charge of building history. Heather managed autopsy reports. Katrina did the historical timeline of the house and surrounding neighborhood. Sergey was digging up information on the families that had lived in the home and Josh was working tirelessly on the physics behind enclosed chamber explosions.

The work was exhausting, and relatively thankless, but it all had to be done. And this was **one** case we all didn't mind researching - especially with all the information. Not only should it have made it a lot easier for _us_, but we wanted to see how legit Harlow's 'talent' really was.

From the far doors on the right of the library, I could hear the blaring iPod and quick, noisy steps of Heather, followed by the clacking of Katrina's heels against the floor. The two came into view shortly after, both looking pale, and slightly anxious. Heather, short and bouncing in a tweed shirt and loud makeup and Katrina, tall and vivacious in a low cut blouse and Chanel bag.

"Right on time," Josh said to them as they approached. Heather grinned.

"It's a first, I think," she said thoughtfully. "Possibly ever. No. Definitely ever."

He grinned back at her. "Did you finish your research?"

"Another first ever!"

Josh applauded.

Katrina's tan face looked flushed, and she kept peering nervously over her shoulder back to the library doors.

"You alright?" I asked her.

"I just wish Ryan would just get here so we could get this thing over with," she mumbled.

"Why?" I asked. "Did you find anything peculiar out?"

Katrina and Heather exchanged glances.

"Let's put it this way," Heather said softly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Harlow is definitely - no _doubt_ a-friggin' bout it - the **real deal**."

Katrina nodded rapidly in agreement, waving her duotang stuffed with notes in front of her.

"I've been trying to contemplate for the last _day_ how she could've faked this stuff," Katrina said tiredly, a hand running absentmindedly over her head. "How she could've just read off the environment, or looked some of this stuff up on the internet, or _somethin'_. But .. she's so bang on, it's not even funny. It's given me the wilies, I was up all night trying to figure it out .. "

I nodded. "You're not alone. If I didn't know better, I swear I'd think she was a fraud or that someone put her up to this. But there's just no way ... none. She knows too much, too much about too many things that no one could possibly know about."

"And it's not like Ryan told her where she was going," Josh said, straightening his report in his hands. "According to him, he gave her the address 30 minutes before she was supposed to arrive. And if I'm certain of anything in this world, it's that Ryan wouldn't lie about this. This is his life."

"Wait until you hear about the autopsy findings," Heather muttered, shaking her head and plunking down in the chair next to Josh. "I think I had about ten heart attacks as I simultaneously shit eight loads into my panties."

"Only someone as adorable as you could get away with saying something as disgusting as that," sighed Katrina, as Heather pinched her cheeks cheerfully.

"Well, at least we don't have to wait anymore," Josh sighed, leaning back in his chair exhaustively. "Here's Chief now."

Sergey and Ryan had just stepped into the library quietly, muttering under their breaths at one another. Ryan, a good four, five inches taller than Serge, looked around almost as anxiously as Heather and Katrina. Sergey had the same slightly dumbfounded look on his face that Katrina had when she'd walked in. Clearly, we were all on the same page as far as this case went.

"Are we late?" Ryan asked, checking his watch with a frown.

"No, I'm just on time," Heather said cheerfully.

"My God," Serge said, with a shake of his head, dropping into the seat next to me. "Hell has frozen over. Heather Taddy is on time to something. _Early_, even."

"God, I know right!" Heather said excitedly. "I can't even _spell_ early_."_

It gave us all a good chuckle, as Ryan sat down on my right side, Katrina taking a seat on Heather's left. The room fell oddly silent as we all sat, the only noises coming from our papers shaking nervously in our hands and laps.

Ryan looked between the two sides of the table, eyebrows raised.

"So ... are we all done the research?" Ryan asked, looking at all of us questioningly - we nodded simultaneously. "What? No, really?"

"The second biggest shock of your life," Katrina said, with a grin. "Right after Heather actually being on time."

"Early," Tad corrected cheerfully.

Ryan laughed, folding his hands together in front of him. "Alright, so since we're - miraculously - all done researching, tell me how it went? I assume we cross-checked the information received, right? Did they get anything? Chip _or_ Harlow? Any of them pick up on anything particularly interesting?"

"Well essentially, they picked up on the same things," I said, looking over my documents. "House fire, little boy, no other residual hauntings. But Harlow picked up on more _details_ than Chip - little facts that pieced the history together. Chip gave us the basics, Harlow filled in the - many - blanks."

"Was she fairly accurate?" he asked, looking at me curiously, then at rest of the table.

We all exchanged the same, nervous glances and Ryan frowned.

"She was completely off? Really?" he asked, a genuinely surprised look on his face.

Katrina shook her head. "No .. no, actually. The complete opposite of it."

"She was completely, one hundred percent, _dead on_ - er, no pun intended," Heather said, straightening out her file. "Every piece of information she had, it fit somewhere into the story."

"Really?" Ryan said with interest, eyes wide. "Everything?"

"Everything," we all said at once.

Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward with impatient interest. "Tell me everything you guys know."

"I can start. I did the house history, and from all the records I could find, I can confirm that there **was** a house fire in 1952," I said. "On June 13th, 1952, to be exact - the very same day she stated the young boy died. According to the house inspection, a faulty furnace in the basement blew it's gasket in the South of the home."

Ryan's face was blank, as he looked down over his notes. "This is a weird question, I know, but did they mention in the report what kind of furnace it - "

"Hawkins," I said. "In 1952, there was a series of explosions in the southern Pennsylvania area - Hawkins is a company that originated from Pennsylvania - Pittsburgh, I think it said. During the years 1950 to 1953, there was a total of thirteen separate incidents with faulty furnace lines and gas leaks around the state."

"Josh," Ryan said, looking over at him with a frown. "Do we know how they were faulty?"

Josh nodded. "The manufacturers were cheap. Let me explain. The heat exchanger and combustion chamber are supposed to be two separate chambers. One on top of the other - eventually the heat will meet with the gas in the supply plenum. In the Hawkin's models that had proven to be broken or '_faulty_', the heat exchanger and combustion chamber had combining holes in the south part of the machine. The result of this would be a lethal combination of heat and gas and spark, resulting in melting of the metal inside of the furnace."

"So, when she said there was a little spiky circle thing at the bottom of the furnace," Ryan said. "What was she talking about?"

"The gas control valve," Josh said. "That's what would've caused the thing, ultimately, to erupt. The valve, as a rule, was what was the main reason behind the Hawkins' furnace explosions. It was constructed of very poorly made metal. It would spark at extremely low temperatures, and combined with the gas and heat leak in the center of the chamber, well .. "

Josh made a "PEW" noise, and rose his hands in the air.

"Instant explosion," Ryan said quietly.

"Probably within fifteen minutes of it being turned on," Josh said. "They were sued by dozens of people, eventually leading them to bankruptcy. They had to close down the entire operation in 1954. Another little fact Harlow seemed to pick up on - this is the Hawkins' logo, back in the 50's."

He held up a piece of white computer paper, with the word 'HAWKINS' in large, blood red letters.

"It matches what she said was on the side of the furnace," Josh said needlessly.

"Is there anyway she could've known that?" Ryan asked, looking from myself, then to Josh.

We looked at each other, but both shook our heads. "Harlow was born in 1984, I believe. Hawkins was closed for business in 1954. Thirty years before she was even born. Not to mention that from what I've gathered, Harlow was born in Rhode Island, and didn't move to Pennsylvania until a couple years ago. I don't know why she would be researching furnace company history's in her spare time. Not to mention that there's no historical reports or papers about the company on the internet **or** in the library. To find out the information, you need to contact the Free Press Archives directly, and they have lists of people who visit."

"Also, the furnace fiasco's of the 50's only ever killed two people," I said, leafing through my file. "Daniel Pritch, and his mother, Dora Pritch."

I held up two photos I'd stumbled across in the obituaries. One was of a woman, late twenties to early thirties. Long and light hair. Round and happy eyes. The other was a boy, probably aged about ten in the black and white photo. Light hair cut in a bowl shape, big and round eyes a twin to the females photo. He was smiling broadly, revealing a smile like a Jack-O-Lantern.

"Weird question," Ryan said, looking closely at the photo. "Do we know what teeth he's missing?"

"I couldn't find dental records from before his death," Heather said, yanking out a chart from her duotang. "But after the explosion, the only teeth remaining were these two."

She pointed to the two teeth on her chart of the human jaw that weren't blacked out with sharpie. "A cuspid and lateral incisor."

"Is that what - "

"What Harlow said," Heather nodded. "Obviously."

"She pointed to those two teeth," Ryan said quietly, looking critically at the chart. "She pointed to the ones in her mouth, anyways. She said those were the only ones she could _see_. Were there other ones?"

"It were the only ones in his mouth in the autopsy," Heather said, sticking the chart back into her binder. "They note that a lot of them had simply fallen out to make room for adult teeth, while other ones seemed to have been blown out by the blast."

"You did autopsy of the boy, then," Ryan said, looking a bit nervously over at Heather.

She nodded, and leafed through her stack of papers. "Luckily, they had no photos - I don't know if I'd have been able to stomach that, _bluhh_. But I got a lot of information on Daniel Pritch, the boy supposedly haunting the house."

"Let's hear it," Ryan said, his face rather pale.

"Autopsy performed June 15th, 1952. Two days after initial death. Boy, ten years old, born on May 10th, 1942. Four feet, eight inches. Death ruled as carbon monoxide poisoning as the result of a house fire. Burns covering 84.3 percent of his body. Left side sustained less burns than the right. Left eye visible, right had essentially molten into the skull. Hair was blonde, eyes were blue bordering on grey. Legs damaged extensively, dermis on feet had actually melted and formed a flipper like extension. Clothes had been charred to his body, but he was wearing what appeared to have been a red, plaid shirt. Khaki colored capris."

"Does it say anything about him personally? Did he have siblings, or was he .. was he - "

"Registered mute," Heather said. "One brother, Alex. Interesting note at the bottom of the autopsy forms, actually. Death was _not_ instantaneous. The boy was alive a good four, five minutes after the initial explosion. Death ruled as carbon monoxide poisoning, but even if someone had taken him out of there, his injuries were too severe and he would've kicked the ol' bucket anyways."

Ryan shook his head, guilty laugh escaping from his mouth. "Tenderly put, Tad."

She smiled wryly. "Sorry. Too much death and died and killed and burnt. 'Kickin' The Bucket' sounds just so much more playful and fun."

"Any other interesting things about the autopsy we should know about?" Sergey asked, face noticeably paler than usual.

Heather leafed through sheets quickly. "Nothing Harlow hasn't already told us, man."

Ryan sighed, raking a hand through his short, dark hair. "Is there anything, anything at **all**, she got wrong?"

We all exchanged glances around the old, rickety table and shook our heads.

"Nothing," I said simply. "There was a bit of information that we couldn't confirm - but the likelihood of it being incorrect is extremely low."

"Yeah man, how the shit were we supposed to find out where the spice rack was located," Heather muttered irritably. "Or if the oregano flakes on the top right hand corner of the rack was 'Mister Dash' brand. Jeeze. How could she have known the brand name of oregano flakes?"

"Why would it matter?" Katrina asked.

"Maybe the key to this whole haunting is in the brand of the oregano flakes!" Heather cried.

"Shut up, Taddy," Serge mumbled.

Ryan flipped his duotang shut, and shrugged his shoulders tiredly. A happy little smile flickered on and off his dark skin.

"I'll give her a call," he sighed. "See if she's able to come to Dead Time tonight."

**(Sophie)**

"You're never late, Harlow. Never. In the years I've known you, the only time I can remember you being late is that time your car conked out and you ran three miles to get to orientation."

She grinned, stretching her legs out in front of her and wiggling her toes. "Actually, if I remember correctly, I wasn't _even_ late that day."

I frowned, considering, then shook my head irritably. "No, you're right. You weren't, you Freak of Nature. But never mind that - why were you late to Volley? There's no way you just overslept, or forgot - you must've been drugged."

She laughed, running her hands through her long, dark hair. "Yeah. Definitely. I was drugged. I didn't forget, I was just _drugged_. That's exactly it."

"Stupid ghosty boy," I muttered, crossing and uncrossing my legs in agitation. "Did Casper Hunter drug you? Inject some Ketamine into those Godly veins? Summon the evil overdue spirits of Pennsylvania upon you? Bind you into a psychic comatic state?"

She sighed, and leered over at me from her chair, jaw clenched in irritation. "No. Ryan - not Casper, or Ghost Boy, or Dark-Closet-Hermit - did not drug me. He did not summon demons upon me. He did not bind my body comatose. I was just running late, that's all. I don't know how many times I can tell you that, Soph. Sometimes, people run late. **You** do it _all_ the time. I was just having a Sophie day."

"Bullshit," I mumbled, reaching for my drink.

We lay on our makeshift little beach chairs on my building's rooftop - the old Filipino caretaker never did remember to lock the roof door, forgetful ol' codger. Harlow sat on my right, sipping her lemonade cheerfully, poking her ice cubes playfully with her straw. I was parked next to her, chugging back my second scotch on the rocks, seeing how fast I could get through a bottle on the same cubes of ice - oh, how I just loved Mondays. It had been three days since our last practice - the practice in which Harlow mysteriously showed up twenty minutes late to.

**BUM BUM BAHHHHHHHH.**

Now you may be thinking, big deal - twenty minutes? We've all been late once or twice in our lifetime, right? Uh, **wrong**. Orphan Annie here had never been late - not once, not even for a second - before in her entire life. Besides the ability to smoke balls like no one's business, and understand the deep, weird-ass complexities of the human mind, little old Harlow also had the freakish ability to always (**ALWAYS**) be on time for every function ever. Ever ever. Ever. Total freak, ammirite?

So when I, like any best friend would, questioned her relentlessly after practice (and, uh - everyday after that .. I WANNA KNOW, OKAY?) on what she'd been doing those elusive, mysterious twenty minutes, she'd replied every single time with 'oh, I just lost track of time'.

Yahhhhh _right_.

"Shut up, Soph," she yawned, stretching her arms back behind her head. "Can't you see I'm getting my tan on? I don't need you and your 3 o'clock scotch rocks ruining my mid-day bake."

I swatted her from my warm spot in the sun, but she ignored it.

"I didn't miss anything anyways," she continued nonchalantly. "I missed you and Ainslee having your mandatory practice bitch fight - because that _never_ gets old."

"She asks for it."

"I missed Natalie's jugs falling out of her top - _again_."

"Yeah, but this time she didn't notice for a good five minutes."

"I missed Kimmy sticking the volleyball's down her shirt and imitating Mickenzie."

"That will never, ever, **ever** not be funny."

"And all of this happens every practice - since we _started_ on the team," she finished, with a grin. "I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart feel no loss."

"That's not the point, Numbnut," I said irritably, my warm spot now feeling irritatingly hot. "You are never, ever, **ever** late, Harlow. Never. I have no memory of you even being ten seconds late. If anything, you're always early. So what happened? What's up? Where were you those mysterious twenty minutes? You can't lie to me, I'm your best friend. I **know** when something's up."

"I'm not lying," she sighed, brow furrowed. "I told you already, at _least _ten times. I went grocery shopping - I _do_ have to eat. I got home, was putting the groceries away, was distracted by the TV. It's that new Housewives show - it's **such **a trainwreck, I couldn't even look away. Next thing I know, I'm already five minutes late and I'm parked on my couch."

"Bullllllshit."

"Call Bull all you want, but - "

"I don't call Bull, I call Buell."

She rolled her eyes, a noticeable pink flushing her cheeks. She was saved from further questioning as the familiar beeping of her phone sounded next to her.

"Speak of the devil - _literally_," I muttered.

She threw her towel at my head, and rolled over onto her feet. "Hello?"

I watched her shrewdly, straining my ears to hear any voice coming from the other end of the line - damn Telus and their shitty connections, I couldn't make out anything caller numero deux was saying!

I was rich. I'd just hire a private investigator, then.

Naw, just kiddin'. I'm not _that_ creepy.

"No it's alright, I was just sunbathing," she said, with a laugh. "I'm at Sophie's. Cool ... yeah, that's cool. What time? Nine? Yeah, I can definitely make it. No, no, it's no problem."

She was pacing the blacktop, any emotion I could have potentially read hidden behind her dark glasses. Damn you to **Hell**, Dolce! You and your sickeningly gorgeous shades.

"Alright, cool - I'll meet you there nine sharp," she said happily.

"Make it 9:20," I called, and she flipped me off irritably. I snickered, taking a hefty chug of my delish beverage.

"No that's great, sounds perfect - definitely, see you in a few Ryan," she said softly, snapping her phone shut a moment later.

"Whats Casper want?" I asked, stretching my legs out in front of me.

She plunked back onto her chair, and shook her head. "Nothing you'd find interesting."

"Another date?" I asked, rolling on my side and gazing at her with feigned super-interest.

"You could say that."

"What are you guys going to do?"

"What do you care?"

"I just want to know what the big second date's gonna be, that's all."

"Nothing."

"Coffee."

"It's not a date."

"Movie?"

"Shut up."

"Blowjobs in the back of Stella's?"

"I'll kill you."

"Diving into haunted caves and trying to Ouija board with the ghost of Kurt Cobain?"

"Yeah, you guessed it. That's **exactly** what we're doing tonight, you bitch."

"Rad. Well. Make sure to tell Kurt I say 'hello' and teen spirit doesn't smell nearly as funky fresh as he insinuated."

"Go to hell."

"Oh, I'm already there, baby cakes."

**(Heather)**

"So do you like, see him _right_ now?"

"Mmm .. I see his outline. He's hidin' behind the fridge again. I can't see him as a person, but I can see where he is. No details, just location."

I frowned, and she smiled serenely.

"I wish I could explain it better," she said guiltily.

"No no .. that makes .. _perfect_ sense," I lied.

She looked thoughtfully - searchingly, even - back at the steel grey fridge a couple of feet away from us. Absentmindedly, she brushed a long piece of auburn hair from her eyes, sweeping it behind her ear.

Is it weird that I totally wanted to reach over and touch her face? Like, would that make me a super lesbian if I admitted to really, truly just wanting to touch her face with my hands? Like not sexually. I just wanted to touch her face.

Also, I would like to write a twelve page report about every different shade of brown and red in her hair. And why I liked them.

And why I wanted to touch them.

And sniff them ..

I guess I couldn't make fun of Ryan for being a googly-eyed pervert fuck around Harlow now. Because I was turning into one too. Oh God, I think I just looked down her top. Oh God, Oh God, Oh Go -

"Hey Heather," Lo said softly, turning the bright green of her eyes to me as I jumped nearly five feet in the air - up, up and _awayyyy _from my super lezzy Harlow daydream, how embarrassing. "How many of these dead time things have you done?"

"Hm. Probably close to a hundred by now, and it's only been a couple of years," I said, hoping she didn't see the bright cherry red creeping across my face. _Hey Harlow, I was just ogling your boobies ..._

She gave a lopsided grin (even in it's lopsidedness it was exquisite, she's such a bitch tit), resting her chin in her hand. "That's a hell of a lotta dead times."

"I don't even know how a clock works anymore," I admitted. "I sleep at random hours, and work the other ones."

"I can't even begin to understand how you stay up this late," she sighed, an involuntary yawn escaping her lips.

"Multiple cups of coffee - minimum four - and five hour energy shots," I said honestly.

"How _many_ energy shots?" she asked.

"Well one's supposed to keep you alert for five hours," I said thoughtfully. "So I usually take three."

"At once?" she gasped, then grinned. "Sweet Jesus, Heather. Don't you completely lose your mind from all the caffeine and sugar?"

"I figure if I'm hyper and sugar fucked out of my mind during dead time, then at least if we make contact with a super scary, super mean ghost, I'll be the first to jump up, scream and run away. The rest of the team's on their own."

We both laughed, a nice break in the relative silence that filled the kitchen. It was comfortable silence, don't get me wrong. But silence is silence, and I don't do well with that. The voices from the living room drifted in, unclear but distinctly Ryan, Josh and Sergey's. Eilfie and Katrina were wandering around upstairs, their faint footsteps creaking across the floorboards above us. The heavy, sure-footed ones were Elf's. The timid, tapping _thunks_, Kat's.

The two of us, Tad-riffic (me) and Hot-arlow, had our bums parked comfortably in the drab but surprisingly inviting kitchen. Besides the fact that I was aware there was a severely disfigured and molten little ghost boy chillin' out behind the fridge, I felt oddly at ease in the room. Maybe it was because the ghost wasn't malevolent. Maybe it was because Harlow emitted this weird, calming aura everywhere she went (she was magic, I swear).

Or maybe it was the two beers I'd chugged back at dinner. And the pineapple cocktail. And the lime and vodka. And the standard malt.

Hey. Ryan said dinner was on HIM tonight. Who _wouldn't_ take advantage of that?

Harlow, seated across the shiny oak table from me, looked questioningly at the refrigerator. Her eyebrows narrowed, green eyes alight with confusion. She gnawed on her bottom lip in avid concentration.

"You hear something?" I asked softly, peering at her face from my seat across the table - man, I **actually** just felt a pang of jealousy that Ryan gets to bone this bitch.

IT ONLY TOOK ONE LOOK AT HER, AND I WAS TURNING INTO HEATHER DEGENERES.

Harlow jumped a bit, my voice startling her out of her trance. She smiled apologetically. "No, not really. I'm practicing .. Chip keeps telling me I should try to communicate with spirits in my head, like all the 'normal' mediums do and I've been kinda trying it out."

"Is it working?"

"I think if I concentrate anymore than I already am, I'm gonna poop myself."

We both laughed, me louder and probably a lot scarier than her, as Sergey ambled anxiously into the kitchen from the dining room door.

Alright. Hold up, story readers.

Okay. So. Before I continue, I gotta tell you something. It's not important, nor does it really have anything at all to do with the story. But it's hilarious. And if you're as mean spirited as **I**, then you'll enjoy this too, alright? It's hilarious, and I tell it at parties all the time to feel liked and popular. Lemme share this gem with ya'll.

Here it is: Sergey's terrible with women. No. _Terrible_. Actually awful. Like, I know Ryan's always the butt of our jokes, but it's because he _knows_ he's a bumbling mess. And he admits it, embraces it, and can laugh about it. Sergey, as far as I know, is also aware of the disaster that is his dating record. But he, unlike Ryan, is unable to joke about it.

But seriously. Anytime Serge finds himself in a situation where he has to talk to a pretty girl, he goes all 'super foreigner', as Kat and I call it. Forgets how to speak English. Forgets how to make eye contact. Begins to sweat profusely. Starts talking fast and incoherently in Russian. Flails his hands, as if that is a proper substitute to plain ol' talking. A mess, a complete mess.

An example of Sergey talking to a pretty lady at a bar:

**Purdy Lady:** "Hey, come to this bar often?"

**Sergey:** "Ahahahaha, ahahahaha, ahahahaha, no. Net. NET."

**Purdy Lady:** "Heh ... oh. I didn't think you looked familiar."

**Sergey:** "Ya imet k mochit'sya."

**Purdy Lady Who's Terrified:** "Uhm .. sorry?"

**Sergey:** "No English, NET ANGLIISKOGO! BATHROOM, BATHROOM."

**Terrified Lady Who Regrets Life: **"Okay .. okay .. it's over there .. _sorry,_ sorry."

**Sergey: "**Zhenshchiny, ah bog ah bog, ah bog, AH BOG."

Like, go ahead and laugh. But that actually happened. I witnessed it, and peed my pants a little.

So, now you know how Sergey is with women. **All** women. But in a case like Harlow's, well ... times his awkwardness and social retardation by about twenty six billion. Because that's only a fraction of how terrible he is around Lo and her angelically **STUNNING** face.

Now, don't get me wrong. In all honesty, _none_ of us have quite gotten used to Harlow's alarmingly perfect presence. It takes time, I'm sure. Maybe you never got over it, I don't know? You do, however, learn to control yourself around her. You coach yourself into pretending like you're not dying a little inside everytime she's near. You convince yourself she's actually a super big bitch and that face is airbrushed to shit every single day because surely no real human being looks like that. You manage to string coherent sentences together so she doesn't think you're a huge, embarrassingly massive idiot. You learn to control yourself.

But of all of us, even McBumbles(Ryan), it was Serge who seemed to be having the hardest time dealing with this. When Harlow was around, it was like he turned into some weird, socially awkward eight year old. He had immense difficulty in meeting her eyes and when she passed close to him in a room, he literally FLEW backwards against the wall, like he'd just been tased or something. He'd sputter when she said hi to him, trip over his feet when they were in the same room. Flailed around like a fuckin' loon when she waved to him. Now, being the complete sweetie pie she was, Harlow pretended not to notice when Sergey would fall over a chair. Or when he'd look at her boobs by accident, panic, then look again. Or how every time she walked by him in a hallway all his papers and binders would fly up in the air as he tried to dodge coming within a 10 foot radius with her. I think that's what made me like her even more.

I mean like, if I were Harlow, I'd be fucking _terrified_ of him.

I guess she _did_ see ghosts all the time, though. Maybe spastic foreigners weren't so bad, all things considered.

So, because of Harlow and her fabulousity, mine and Katrina's new favorite game was _'What Will Sergey Fall Over Next?'_. It's actually not even a game. It's more us just blatantly and rudely making fun of him. But 'game' sounds nicer.

"Hey, Harlow," Sergey said to the opposite wall, red blooming on his pale cheeks. "Ryan said he's ready if you are."

**Amazing**! He spoke without choking/spitting/slurring/speaking in Russian! Maybe he was getting better? WELL DAMMIT, there goes my new fun game!

Harlow looked at him cheerfully and nodded, and I'm not gonna lie, she also looked a bit surprised to not have her breasts eye raped. "Sure, yeah ... should I just go in the living room?"

"DA, DA," Sergey nodded/yelled.

"No, Harlow. And I'm Heather," I said, grinning.

"Ah bog ah bog," he mumbled, shuffling out of the room.

"Is he alright?" Harlow asked, brow furrowed with concern.

"Naw, he's a little off," I shrugged. "Russian. Y'know. When he was a baby he drank vodka instead of breast milk. Messed up ever since."

Harlow smiled, clearly torn between laughing and being a little bit disgusted at the thought of Sergey and breast milk being mentioned in the same sentence. DAMN ME, I MAKE EVERYTHING AWKWARD.

"C'mon," I said, rising from the table - Harlow followed suit across from me. "Let's go talk to some Ghosties."

We padded quietly into the living room, a quaint but homey place. Seated on the couch farthest from the door was Ryan, shuffling through his case file, brow furrowed. He looked up, and I noticed his face slacken noticeably as Lo entered the room. Serge, red as a Russian Tomato, stood awkwardly across from us. Ryan nodded shyly at Harlow, shifting a few inches over on the sofa

And like the tactless dolt he is, Serge thundered over and plopped down next to him.

Dumbass.

"Idiot," muttered Josh, who was seated on a rickety old chair in the far right of the room.

"Agreed," I mumbled, Josh and I exchanging dark looks. I wandered over to the left, plopping down on a plush purple foot stool.

Harlow smiled serenely, ignoring Sergey's idiocy and seated herself in a chair on the left of the kitchen's doorway, on the right of my purple seat.

"Well," Ryan said, eyes flickering furiously over at the completely unaware Sergey. "It's 1:45. We might as well get this thing goin'."

I nodded. Harlow was peering distractedly into the towering, red brick fireplace on the opposite wall of the room. The flames danced and crackled, Harlow's face illuminated. I heard Katrina and Elf shuffling down the stairs then noisily into the room. A couple of meters away from me, Ryan and Sergey were babbling back and forth, discussing final details of the case before we settled down for dead time. All this nattering going on, but my focus and attention was latched on to Harlow.

Her face, thought immaculate, looked suddenly old. Weathered, distant, haunted. It was like she had aged twenty years in the fifteen seconds since she had sat down. She gazed blindly into the fire, her lips moving back and forth, but barely. It looked like she was muttering under her breath, though I could hear no words over the chatter in the room.

I leaned closer to her, a wave of anxiety washing over me. "You alright?" I whispered.

She said nothing, didn't even take notice of me - I wasn't sure she had even heard me. Her eyes were busy, distracted. It was like they saw something I didn't - couldn't - and it was terrible. I could no longer see those bright green iris', just a circle of jet black on snow white. Reluctantly, I rested my palm lightly on her kneecap, but she didn't budge, didn't even flinch.

"Harlow?" I muttered. "Harlow?"

I rapped on her knee, firmly but as gentle as I could - she jolted, the weathered and weary face abruptly changed to alert and poised.

"Sorry," she said, blinking. Her hands knotted convulsively in her lap. "I'm sorry."

"Zoned out?" Katrina asked from the opposite end of the room.

I turned my head sharply, realizing that the chatter had died away. My team was looking over at mine and Harlow's little corner, mingled looks of concern, curiosity and nervousness etched on all their faces. Harlow sniffed, steadying her hands in her lap.

"Sorry," she said again, with an awful attempt at a forced grin.

"Did you see something?" Ryan asked, his eyes the only earnestly concerned but unfrightened ones in the bunch.

"Sort of," Harlow said - her voice was still steadying itself but her eyes were fully alert. She was looking at Ryan, him at her, sharing a very obvious but unknown secret in that one simple stare.

"What did you see?" I asked encouragingly.

She didn't break contact with Ryan's gaze, but she inclined her head towards the fireplace no less than fifteen feet ahead of her.

"It - it's, just the fireplace. The fire, rather. He - it's, he .. he doesn't like it on," she said slowly, her words chopped and unsure. "Danny, Daniel. The little spirit boy in the house. He doesn't like the fire, it scares him."

"Does he want us to turn it off?" Ryan asked, pushing himself up off the sofa.

"No," she said softly, breaking eye contact and waving a hand dismissively at him. "He'll deal with it."

"We don't want him to feel uncomfortable, if he doesn't want it on, I can easily just - "

"No, I mean he can deal with the fire himself."

"He .. what? How?"

"He'll put it out."

"How, though?"

"I don't know, exactly."

" ... Well, when?"

The room fell silent, our team staring intently at Harlow. She seemed to take no notice - her head was cocked to the side a little, eyes narrowed with polite confusion and interest. She exhaled softly, smiled, then turned her twinkling eyes to Ryan.

"Now."

_Poof! Tssssssss._

**(Josh)**

The room fell into instant and all-consuming darkness. Katrina squealed in terror, Serge whispered a soft '_fuck!' _under his breath. There was a scramble, a thump and the lamp next to Eilfie flickered on. Our faces illuminated, wide-eyed - even in the pale lamp light, we were all white as snow. Well. Excluding Harlow, that is, who looked _remarkably_ cheerful.

"He's in here?" choked Katrina, eyes wide with fear. "He's in the room?"

Lo nodded. It was the strangest thing - her presence calmed me. Her oddly relaxed demeanor in this (apparent) room of terrifying doom and horror seemed to ease my nerves. I felt a calm wash over my anxiety, a certain tranquility from just her being.

"Where?" Kat asked, and I could see the hair on her arms standing up all the way over here. It wasn't from a chill, the room was cozy, pleasant.

Harlow hesitated, seemingly contemplating the answer to Kat's question.

"Do you know?" Katrina asked, rather forcefully. I saw Eilfie gave her a swift boot to the ankle. She grimaced, but couldn't seem to tear her panicked eyes away from Harlow's own tentative ones.

"Near the bookshelf, on the right of the fireplace," Harlow finally said, motioning with her head to the bookshelf only inches away from Katrina's arm.

A visible shiver ran through Kat's entire body and her face paled even more than I thought possible. She was as white as a ghost.

A hah, a hah. It's funny because we're ghost hunters, right?

"Sorry," Lo apologized, hands tightening in a knot on her lap - she looked guiltily at Katrina. "I knew it'd freak you out."

"I'm not freaked out," she whimpered.

"Can he do something to show us he's in here?" Ryan asked, eyes flickering back and forth between Harlow, the snow-white Kat and the bookshelf.

"You mean besides putting out a frickin' fire," muttered Serge, who after Katrina, won the palid competition.

Through my slight anxiety, I could help but chuckle at Serge. He shot me a scathing look.

"I'm not scared," he said, rather defiant for someone curled into a ball on the couch.

"Of course not," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Ruh-shah ees no scared uff enn-ee sing!" Heather grunted, then ducked, roaring with laughter, as the couch pillow went sailing past her head.

"Stop it," Ryan said, with an unimpressed look shot between Serge and Heather. "Sorry, Lo. Can he - Danny - do anything to show us that he's here?"

Harlow, who'd been smiling distractedly at the bickering between Serge and Heather, turned with surprise at the sound of her name.

"Mmm," she pondered, brow furrowing slightly. "Thought I lost him there for a minute. Gimme a sec, I'll see."

She settled back into her chair, right leg crossed over left, hands folded mildly in her lap. She took a deep breath, exhaled.

"Did you lose him?" Ryan asked.

She shook her head, frowning. "No, no. Got him. Just .. gimme a sec."

The room grew cold, very suddenly and very inexplicably. I felt goosebumps rise on the back of my neck, my teeth chattered and I swore I could even see my breath. According to my thermometer, the room had stayed the exact same ... Freaked, I peered over at Heather, who shivered and looked over at me in confusion. A mutual thought passed through us - _you felt that too?_

In the chair to Heather's left, Harlow's face had shifted as suddenly as the temperature in the room. The same distant, vaguely aware stare had taken over her skull, washed over her in a quick and sudden wave. She was concentrating intently on a spot a foot away from Kat's head (which, may I add, Kat seemed to take note of - she shifted uncomfortably to her right). Harlow's concentration even further deafened the already silent room. Only further froze the already sub-zero room. I could hear my heart beat in my ears, the nervous pounding against my chest, painful and growing more and more apparent as the time ticked on.

In these few moments, in this random house in Pennsylvania, Harlow seemed to lose _exactly_ what made her Harlow - her beauty. Her face was no longer the face of a Goddess. A deadened expression took the place of the benignly content one. The small, smooth hands curled into balls, whitened at the knuckles. The jaw clamped down, sharpened, became a statue of hard curves and contours. Her face was petulant, absent. She stared straight ahead with such a fierce glare, her soft features we all knew and remembered had melted into nothing. Eyes, they say, are the windows to the soul. If this was true, what a horrific and terrifying soul she must've had. Her eyes were glassy but bright, aware but hopeless - for these short moments, it was as if she suddenly saw every secret the world had ever kept. Saw the horrors and terror that every human in the world had ever gone through, bore witness to, committed. As if - _finally_ - she understood the enormity of the gift she had been given. In a split second, her face had been replaced with such a fierce intensity, it was horrifying, jaw-dropping - but awe-inspiring.

After what had felt like an eternity (but in actuality, had only been about twenty seconds), her green eyes burned one last time with vehemence, then flickered with a slight tinge of impatience, and finally softened with relief and compassion. The face was benign again, beautiful and untouched as though that half minute of fury had never even happened.

"Moby Dick or The Good Earth," Harlow asked aloud, a wicked ghost of a grin lighting up her face.

The team exchanged doubtful, obvious looks of bewilderment.

"What?"

"Choose one."

"Why?

"Just choose one."

"Moby Dick," Heather offered.

She nodded, eyes narrowing slightly - the flame ignited behind her iris' once more, less furious this time and only lasting for a split second. I barely even caught it.

"Good choice," she said serenely. She pointed with a slender finger to the bookshelf on the right of Katrina, the left of Eilfie. "Watch him."

_Crrrrrrck - THUNK._

If I hadn't witnessed it myself, I would never have believed it.

From the bookshelf - this time on the opposite side of Katrina - a thick, blue spined book had dragged and fell onto the floor by Elf's feet. After a few seconds of stunned silence, Elf stooped to grab it.

She needn't have, really - the faded picture of a great blue whale on the cover had already told us exactly what it was.

The room was silent except for Katrina's ragged breath and Serge's girlish whimpering. There was disbelief on all our faces, but we'd all seen it. Heard it. Witnessed the exact book we'd asked for drop from the middle of the back of the bookshelf. Exactly where Harlow had pointed. The exact shelf. Exact spot.

"I think I pooped," Heather whispered, staring wide-eyed at the old book clutched tightly in Elf's hand.

Harlow looked contently at the copy of 'Moby Dick', hands curled easily in her lap.

"He can thump too," Harlow said, a slight edge of pride in her smooth voice - more pride for the spirit boy than herself, from what I could tell. "If you ask him questions. He's feeding off the energy in the room, he can thump and respond so you know he's here."

"Because we didn't believe he was here before," Sergey muttered in terror, eyes wide and still glued on the book in Elf's slightly trembling hands.

"Can .. can he show himself?" Ryan asked, his voice a failed attempt at indifference - even _Ryan's_ face was pale, alarmed.

Harlow frowned, peering at the empty air between Elf and Kat thoughtfully. I don't know much about Mediums or how they work, but it looked to me that she was more waiting for the boy's answer than her own. She nodded slightly, turned her gaze over to Ryan.

"I don't think so. It takes a lot of energy to even make a tapping noise, never mind breaking the barrier between now and ... them," Harlow said softly, an air of sadness in her smooth voice. "Even if he could, I don't ... I don't think that would be a great idea."

"We won't be scared," Elf reassured her, although her eyes told a very different story than her mouth.

Harlow laughed faintly, shaking her head. "It's not that I think you'll be scared ... it's just. He may be dead and gone and a deaf mute, but he still has feelings. If you saw him, just .. just trust me. It's gruesome, alarming to say the least. The last thing I think this little boy needs is a bunch of people screaming in terror at that ruined face."

She sighed, gazing sadly at the bookshelves once more. "And I think the energy involved in attempting it would be too much."

The image of him in my head was terrible, and I have to say I fully agreed with Harlow - I could barely stomach the imagined version of the boy, never mind the real one allegedly only **feet** away from me. His image was trapped in my mind, but my mind alone;

and I think I'd rather it stay that way.

Ryan leaned forward on the sofa and flicked the tape recorder on - _Click_ - in front of him. Harlow shot him a nervous glance, but he nodded at her reassuringly. He cleared his throat, meeting Elf's eyes from the sofa.

"This is the Peever Home Haunting case, the time is 1:53AM. So far, unfilmed, we've encountered a fireplace going out precisely when Har - uh, when the resident Medium predicted. Also, a book we chose from random flung off the bookshelf in the living room. We are about to attempt to communicate with the spirit in question, Daniel Pritch, ten years old at the time of his death."

There were chills running through my bones, and I shivered rather audibly. The terror was clear in all our faces. Katrina had huddled close to Eilfie. Heather nestled inches away from Lo's chair. Serge was cross legged on the sofa, curled up in the corner. The only unfrightened one in the bunch of us was Harlow - she looked with interest and earnest fascination at Ryan, eyes twinkling brightly in the dull lamp light. She didn't fit the mold for spooked paranormal investigator - she looked more like she was listening to a particularly intriguing lecture on behaviorism, rather than listening to some twenty-something year old guy talk about ghosts into a tape recorder.

I had to give her credit - most people think we're lame. She did a great job of pretending she wasn't one of them.

Ryan flicked the tape recorder off with a _click_ and looked directly across the room at Harlow. Her eyes met his, brown on green, both smoldering with something I felt that none of us could truly grasp.

Except perhaps Eilfie, who was looking smugly at both of them. _She's_ the psychic one, I **swear**.

"Ready, Lo?" Ry asked, corners of his mouth twitching.

"As I'll ever be," she said softly, but with a slight grin.

Ryan beamed, looked over at Heather and I, then to Katrina and Eilfie.

"And we begin."

_Click._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **HELLO, FAN FICTION WORLD.

I am back after a SICKLY long hiatus! And I am so so so sorry to have kept you all waiting :( I wish I had some kind of super legit excuse to give you all as to why I stopped writing for some ridiculous amount of months, but the fact is ... I don't. :( Honestly, I just got sick of writing for a while there. The story was boring me, I didn't enjoy writing it anymore, I just couldn't work up the energy to complete even a _quarter_ of the chapter, y'know? It was like writers block, but a lot shittier. But! Now I'm back! And I promise to update more frequently than at once a month, haha ;)

Now, it's about 4 in the morning over here. Just got home from the bar (was the DD, so fun ... sarcasm. sooo muchhhhh sarrrcasssmmm), and **although** I was gonna post this up tomorrow afternoon, I figured I might as well tonight. What am I doing? Sitting here eating pretzels, drinking iced tea and reading mah updates from Perez Hilton. Lame. I know.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I promise you, I will be back next time with a bigger, better, longer and CRAZIER author's note next chapter! And a litttttle hinty hint about next chapter - there mayyy be smoochy smoochy. Or gropey gropey. Or beddy beddy. :D

I LOVE YOU ALL TO BITS! Thank you so much for the glorious reviews! They truly mean a lot :)

Stay sexy, my lovely readers!

**love;**

ellah! (L)


	13. Poltergeists Attacking My Bum, So What?

**Chapter Twelve**

Poltergeists Attacking My Bum, So What?

**(Ryan)**

"She hates me. She probably hates me."

Katrina shot me a _severely_ irritated glance. "She doesn't hate you, idiot. She's probably busy."

"Nope," I said listlessly. "Nope. She hates me."

"I'm not arguing with you anymore," Katrina snapped, slamming her file down on the table in front of her. "I've been supportive and I've listened to you moan and grumble and whine for days now. I'm not arguing anymore. It's like trying to talk a five year old into eating their vegetables. Irritating, exhausting and a complete waste of my time."

"Have you even called her?" asked Heather, looking at me curiously from the desk she was perched on. "Have you spoken to her since dead time last week?"

"Well .. I spoke with her the day after, and we all saw her a couple days after that at the volleyball game. But she's been busy, y'know? I don't know if I should really bother her ..."

Heather rolled her eyes, falling backwards rather dramatically on the desk. "Ryan, you're supposed to be with her, aren't you? Aren't you both exclusive enough to be boning each other by now? You're _dating_ her, for the love of God, are you not? SERIOUSLY BUELL, stop being such a puss. She's not 'too busy' to take your call. Just phone her, you dink."

Although I had stopped listening to Tad after the **glorious** image of boning Harlow had popped into my mind, I had caught the jyst of what she was talking about.

Exactly one week ago, give or take a few hours, we had all been sitting in Laura Peever's living room. After a successful **hour **of bumps, scrapes, thumps and pokes, Harlow had helped us send little Danny Pritch on to the other side. Between the evidence _and_ the end result of the night, not to mention all the detailed reports Lo had picked up on in the days prior, it had **absolutely** been one of our_ most_ successful cases in the history of the PRS. Thus far, anyways.

I had called Harlow the day after to thank her once again for all her help, and she'd been more than humble about it. We'd talked for nearly twenty minutes before she had to excuse herself for volleyball practice, and besides a miserably short three second encounter at the volleyball game the day after _that_, I hadn't spoken to her since.

My heart bleeds, oh _sob_.

... Alright. Maybe it _was_ from lack of trying on my part. I guess standing around her class buildings like a creep didn't really constitute as 'reaching out'.

It just kind of made me a weird, obsessive, ghost-chasin' stalker, didn't it?

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

I peered over at Heather, now cross legged and frowning on top of the table. She sniffed haughtily, folding her arms across her chest.

"You know, I'd appreciate you **not** day dreamin' when I'm _trying_ to give you fail-proof and helpful advice on how to approach Harlow and get laid. I _am_ an expert, you know."

"And _what,_ exactly, makes **you** the expert on getting laid?" Kat asked, eyebrow raised in mock confusion.

Heather clucked her tongue angrily. "Just in case you didn't know, I get laid _alllllll_ the time, Katrina Weidman. Just because I don't go around telling everyone about who I sleep with doesn't mean I don't get laid."

"I do **not** tell everyone who I sleep with!" Katrina snapped, balling up her half written report in her hand. "And if anyone here's the expert on getting laid, I'm pretty sure we can all agree that person would be _me_."

"It would **not** be, and you _know_ it! I get laid more!"

"No, **I**do!"

"Me!"

"No, me!"

"I never get laid," Sergey sighed.

"You're just jealous, Katrina. You're jealous because you know I get more ass than a toilet seat."

"You do not! That's a **lie**."

"IT IS **NOT** A LIE."

"IT IS TOO."

I sighed, grabbing my notebook and current case file from my desk.

_Ugh_. And the screaming begins.

Josh had grabbed the nearest textbook from the pile next to him and hid apprehensively behind it. Next to him, Serge's head bounced back and forth between Kat and Heather, like he was watching a particularly loud and terrifying game of tennis. I peered over at Eilfie, whose was wincing at the high-pitched shrieks erupting from the two screaming psychopaths in front of her.

"I'm gonna head on over to the library," I said/yelled at Elf.

She looked up at me, face white with terror. "What? No! What am I supposed to do with them?"

"They'll tucker themselves out sooner or later," I assured/screamed over Kat and Tad.

Elf shot me a furious look. "Really. And tell me, Ryan - have they ever tuckered themselves out before?"

**"LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE, YOU LIE.**"

"**I AM NOT LYING, I HATE YOU, I HAAAATE YOU!**"

"**YOU'RE A LYING LIAR, LIES LIES!**"

"**SLUTTY SLUT SLUT, YOU'RE A SLUT!**"

"N - uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm sure they have."

Elf shot me another equally scathing look, and began digging through her purse for her iPod, muttering furiously underneath her breath.

"God speed, my Pagan Queen," I muttered, ducking out of the room at top speed.

I booked it down the long hallway away from my class, the loud and angry screams echoing against the stone walls. Sweet Mother Mary, those girls could yell ...

Now, I know you're probably thinking to yourselves, '_jeeze Ryan, you're such a wimp! Get back in there and deal with them, they're only girls!'_ But you don't know what I know, faithful readers. Okay, look - here's the thing; I'll confront demons and ghosts and poltergeists and banshees and ghouls and God only knows what else is out there, alright? I'll face them head on with a video camera and a tape recorder. I'll fight a wailing witch with my bare fists if I have to. But the fact is, I'd rather be held captive by a malevolent homosexual rapist ghost than have to sit in a room with a screaming/yelling pack of women. What's a poltergeist assault up my bum? Big deal if I'm mangled by an invisble werewolf. Fine, bring it on blood-sucking vampires. I'll face anything - **eh-nee-THING **- before I face a Katrina/Heather catfight. That is the _one_ thing that terrifies me beyond anything else on this entire planet.

The emotional and psychological scars that would come along with that would be too much to handle.

And if you've ever heard the ear-splitting shrieks that come along with Heather/Katrina battles, you'd understand. Trust me.

Hitching my book bag further up my arm, I clunked down the stairs unenthusiastically. My brain was pounding painfully against my skull. My body, exhausted. My eyes, bleary. My step, skipless. I was sick, ladies and gents. Oh so very sick. What's that? Did I have a flu? Oh no. Oh of course not. The sickness I had couldn't be diagnosed. There was only one medicine for it. There was only one word for it. It was nothing bed rest could fix, nothing chicken soup or ginger ale could, either. I had the worst of all illnesses that can plague a human being. My affliction? Loneliness. Or, as it's better know -

L.H.A.D. 'Lack of Harlow Affective Disorder'. I had it. I had it **bad.**

It seemed that the days I spent without Harlow, without hearing her voice or seeing her face or smelling her perfume, the days completely free of her - they had stretched on for what seemed like weeks. An hour reading a book felt like a month. A nights sleep felt like five. A two hour class felt like a years worth of study. I'd known Lo, really known and spoken to her, for only a couple of weeks now. But I could barely remember the time before that. I couldn't remember my life without her voice. I couldn't remember it without her smile, her laugh. Without her.

It had taken her only three weeks to turn me into the mushiest, lamest, whipped-in-every-sense-of-the-word bastard that had ever walked the face of this world. God DAMN.

But it was true! In the short time I'd been away from her, my whole heart had turned to ice. My head was hurting. My heart ached. My body was slow, so was mind. The world moved sluggishly without her. She seemed to take all the purpose in the world with her in her absence.

Without any real destination, I padded through the campus grounds. The air was hot and sticky - humid. There weren't a lot of people outside today - most were keeping cool in the surrounding buildings, and I could barely blame them. I'd been outside a minute and I was al_ready_ sweating through my shirt. Hey, whatever - I'm sure ladies just **love** pit stains.

"Ryan!"

Oh, sigh! I missed her so much I could even hear her voice! Familiar, honey smooth - cheerful. It was like she was right next to me I heard it so clearly .. what I would give to hear it come from that beautiful mouth just _one more_ time.

"Ryan!"

Oh, and it was only getting louder and clearer! The sun was soaking up every bit of knowledge I had managed to store in my now useless brain, but by God, it'd left me that sweet sweet memory of that sweet sweet voice. Oh Harlow, come back to me my love!

"Ryan you doof, I'm behind you!"

OH SWEET BALLS OF THUNDER, I WASN'T DAYDREAMING!

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart hammering. I turned, realizing immediately that it really _was_ rather useless to try and hide the unfathomably happy smile spreading over my face.

Oh, my _Harlow!_

And there she was, in all her tall, brilliant, cheerful, beautiful glory! Those immaculate chompers, bared in a friendly grin. Those long and perfect arms, wrapped around a stack of books so enormous, they tipped and swayed precariously with every cautious, graceful step she took. Her emerald eyes, crinkled with happiness as she peered over the tower of novels and textbooks balanced in front of her.

"Lo," I stammered, trying to take her all in - it had only been a couple days but it'd felt like forever. "I .. hey!"

"Hola," she said happily, adjusting her grasp on the books carefully. "How _are_ you!"

"Fantastic now," I said, with complete honesty. "How are _you_? Haven't talked - actually, I haven't even _seen _you in days .. "

"Tell me about it," she sighed, a tired look sweeping over her face. "And it's no fault of yours, _trust_ me. I've just been completely swamped with homework, it's like **all** of my Profs decided at once to double the coursework without telling me. I can barely finish one classes homework by the end of the night, nevermind all four. I think I just single-handedly cleared out the _entire_ Psychology section of the library."

"No kidding," I said, stooping to catch her agenda that was sliding off the top of her pile. "Here, let me help."

"Thanks," she said with relief, as I grabbed the majority of books from her arms. She straightened up, flipping her long hair behind her shoulder. "I'm just heading over to my developmental statistics class, it's in the Taylor building."

"I'll walk you," I said, attempting a tone of helpful earnest - it came out as a more pleading, whine, I think. Dammit.

"What a gentleman," she said, that dazzling smile lighting up her face.

We turned down the sidewalk, walking side by side towards the building. My steps were slow, strides purposefully short. She kept up with me easily, matching my slow steps with her own quick and elegant ones. She slung her purse further over her shoulder, textbook and agenda in hand, all the rest of her books tucked under my arm.

"I'm so sorry I didn't get to talk to you at the volleyball match on Sunday," she apologized, looking up at me with those big round eyes - oh _God_. "It was such a hectic day, I was _so_ stressed out. The girls were driving me up the wall."

"It's alright, really," I said, adjusting my hold the small frickin' _library_ I'd taken from her. "I could tell you were pretty strained to begin with. But hey, clearly stress isn't really a bad thing for you, is it? You guys _destroyed_ the U of Pittsburgh team."

She nodded, unable to keep the complacent grin from her face. "We really **did** slaughter them, didn't we?"

"Like untamed beasts," I laughed. "In the best way possible, of course."

She chuckled heartily as we passed a group of students Harlow's age curled up on the ground in front of the Niffenberg Building. They peered curiously at the two of us, clearly scrutinizing why Harlow, the Captain of the University League volleyball team, prettiest girl in Uni (perhaps the world? YES I THINK SO) and the highest ranking Psych student PSU has had in a half a century would be socializing with me, the leader of the second nerdiest student led group on campus (take** THAT** 'Cyberfeminism 101'). I'm not gonna lie, I'd be wondering the same thing if I were them.

"How are you feeling now?" I asked, trying and failing miserably to ignore that terrifically_ awful_ feeling of being harshly judged by complete strangers.

Harlow sighed, shaking her head exhaustively. "Drained."

"Yeah?" I asked sympathetically, and she nodded.

"You know what I've done the last five nights in a row? I've sat in my living room with text books, notes, pictures and old reference essays strewn all over the place. I wake up at 7:30, get to class for 9:00. I'm **in** class all day until 3:00, go home to eat, rush back here for volleyball practice, get home and shower and work on my assignments until one in the morning, sometimes even later than that. Then I just do it all again the next day."

She yawned, raking her free hand through her hair grumpily. "I know it's the life of the college student, and I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong. It's just ... the year's almost over, so now they lay it all - including exams - on you, all at once. Not to mention since we killed U of Pitts on Sunday, we're officially headed to Nationals. Which is great, don't get me wrong, but .. even if I survive through exams, I've still got to worry about the team. I've only been the captain for three years, but we've never made through to Nationals before. I can't mess this up, we actually have a real chance this year."

She shook her head, as we approached her Psych building. "I'm sorry, I'm sure the last thing you wanted to hear was how I'm a living, breathing college zombie."

I laughed, and put a hand comfortingly on her back. "No, really - it's good to vent. I just wish there was something I could do for you ... "

We came to a slow stop in front of her building, and she turned to face me, weary smile on her pretty little face.

"You don't need to do anything," she said softly. "I know you're there if I need you. And that's .. that's a wonderful thing to know."

"I'm a phone call away," I agreed.

"And if _you_ need anything," she said, eyes glancing over at the buildings tall, wooden doors warily. "With any .. cases, or really _anything_ for that matter. I can try and lend a hand, do whatever you need me to do."

I smiled at her, adjusting her books into a nice, neat pile in my arms.

"Just go home and rest today," I said. "You don't have practice tonight, it's Thursday. Just go home and eat and go to bed early. Take a night off from it all."

"I might do that," she agreed, taking her stack of books from my hands - it teetered unstably to the left. "Drink some wine, watch some late night re-runs of Jerry Springer. Maybe a night off is just what I need?"

"I think it is," I said, an idea popping **BRILLIANTLY** into my head.

"I have to run," she said, motioning to the front doors of the building. A loud bell clanged somewhere in the distance. "Well. Not run. Walk very cautiously is more like it."

"You better take care of yourself," I threatened, and she laughed - man, _no one_ ever took my threats seriously. Sad faaaace.

"I hope I see you soon," she said, quietly, eyes bright with something I didn't immediately recognize. "I've missed you, as lame as that sounds."

I smiled, cheeks flushing a bright red. "I've missed you too."

The bell stopped clanging, and before I knew what had happened, Harlow had propped up on her tippy toes, leaned over, and given me a quick but meaningful peck on my lips.

"Goodbye, Ryan," she said cheerfully, eyes twinkling once again.

And with that, she'd turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, disappearing behind the large wooden doors of the Taylor building.

**(Harlow)**

"Hello?"

"In the living room."

"Gee, how ironic," I laughed.

I dumped my sweater over the coat hook in my front room and kicked my shoes off into a messy pile on the floor. I hoisted my book bag farther up my arm, and padded dully down the hallway and into the living room.

Hair pale and lank as ever, Chick peered over at me with her big round eyes from the sofa.

"_More_ homework?" she asked incredulously. "What are they _doing_? You must've read half the freakin' library already."

"Feels like it," I mumbled, dropping my bag on the floor - it landed with a heavy _THUNK_. "I'm going cross-eyed from reading all of this crap."

I plopped down onto the charcoal grey sofa next to me, curling up into a little ball. The television was humming quietly across the room, the sound muted.

"National Geographic channel?" I muttered in amusement. "Didn't know you liked that kind of thing, Chicky."

"I can't use a clicker," Chick sighed from somewhere near my head.

I felt a cold rush down to my bones flow through my body, and I shivered. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Sorry," her voice said indifferently, now from behind me in the kitchen. "Harlow, when are you going to take a break? You've barely slept or eaten anything in the last week - this is getting ridiculous."

"It's the last couple weeks," I said, feeling a soft but angry grumble in my stomach. "I just need to plow through this next month, I'll be fine."

She tutted from somewhere behind me.

"Eat something," she said, monotone voice floating closer to me. "There's deli chicken in the fridge, and I'm pretty sure the mayonnaise is still good."

Grudgingly, I stretched out of my warm little ball and glared pointedly at the television. Stupid ghosts. Why they gotta be so smart?

She _was_ right - as much as I hated to admit it. I ran a hand up and down my side, and could feel the slightest hint of rib protruding through my skin. I knew the importance of a good diet - but I'd been neglecting it. And now? I was almost bones. It was unhealthy, stupid, I knew that - I had hardly eaten anything in a week. I was an athlete, I knew how important nutrition was.

But the fact was, I'd been swamped for more than just seven days. I'd been swamped all year, but I was just starting to **really** feel it these last couple of months. The course load for any student in my year was always heavy, it was just something you dealt with. But with the ongoing success of our volleyball team, I'd had about a million other things to worry myself with. I could only focus so long on the definitions of sociopathic tendencies and symptoms when game plans and setter positions were threatening to overflow my already flooded mind.

I had barely seen Sophie in two weeks - her courses were getting heavier, her workload intensifying. When I say I hadn't _seen_ her in two weeks, that wasn't really true - I saw her just about everyday, but that was for volleyball. I hadn't hung out with her, had a dinner date, slept over at her place or her at mine in what felt like forever.

I hadn't gone out, I hadn't shopped, I hadn't even made it to the library for some recreational reading. I hadn't worked out, I hadn't really grocery shopped, I hadn't seen any of my other friends. I was living the life of a hermit, and I didn't much approve of it.

And perhaps even more importantly than food or shopping or sleeping or anything - I hadn't seen Ryan either.

Today, for the first time in almost six days, I had actually spoken to him for more than 2 minutes. Today, for the first time in almost _five_ days, I'd actually seen his face. I was slowly losing everything that made me sane.

All I was left with?

Ghosts, essays and textbooks.

Strike me down, now.

I was exhausted. My eyes threatened to shut and stay that way everytime I sat down. I was irritable, I had barely slept in fourteen days. I was weak and I was tired from a diet of literally water, milk and oatmeal-to-go bars. I was the shadow of my former self, and it was killing me. Maybe not literally, but I felt (and I'm sure looked) like death. Ughhhh.

"You're right, you're right," I yawned finally, looking over at Chick. She was now folded into the armchair, cross-legged and still as the night. "I'll go eat something."

"Good," she said, face and body still as stone. Her eyes followed me from the sofa into the kitchen.

I grabbed the chicken from the fridge, along with lettuce (that was sort of mushy), mayonnaise (that _appeared_ to still be white), tomatoes (so ripe they were probably borderline rotten) and mustard (that I hadn't used in so long, a millimeter thick film had crusted all around the cap of it). I bumped the fridge door shut with my bum, and grabbed the loaf of good, albeit slightly hard, rye bread.

I peered up from the counter, looking through the bar window that opened into the living room. Chick was still staring at me - she hadn't moved since I'd been in here.

"You're kinda creeping me out," I said, taking out two pieces of bread. "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing," she said slowly, eyes narrowing a bit. "Just .. nothing."

I wiped mayo across both pieces of bread, eyeing her curiously. "Just what?"

"Have you been feeling okay?" she asked, a nervous edge to her usually dull and listless voice.

"Fine, just tired," I replied, heaping thick slices of the deli chicken on the mayo'd slice. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason, I guess," she said, still looking at me eerily. "Just .. worried, that's all. I keep getting this bad feeling about you everytime I see you."

I stopped ripping lettuce off the head, and looked at her in confusion. "Bad feeling? What _kind_ of bad feeling?"

She shook her head silently, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. I feel like something bad is gonna happen."

I blinked a couple times, hands frozen over the head of lettuce. "Can spirits see that kind of thing?"

"_You_ tell _me_, Psychic Sue," she sighed.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" I asked.

"About a month now, it's just increasing a bit every week," she said, and I knew by the tone of her voice she wasn't lying.

I shook out of my daze, and continued ripping chunks of lettuce. "What, am I gonna die or something?"

Chick frowned, and shook her head rapidly. "Don't even joke."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to figure out what kind of bad thing could happen?"

"You're just giving off a weird aura, that's all," Chick said. "It's like .. every week that passes, you're getting weaker and smaller and more tired - more susceptible."

I chopped at the tomato, sleepy smile on my face. "Chick, I _have_ been getting weaker. And smaller. **And** more tired. My schedules whacked from school and volleyball."

I slapped the second slice on top of the other one, and carried my sandwich into the living room.

"I'm weaker because my diets off, I'm smaller because I'm losing weight and all I do is curl up like a hunchbacked hermit and read every night, and I'm tired because I don't have time to sleep."

I plopped down into the chair next to hers, and curled up cross legged, like her. She eyed me warily.

"Don't worry about me, Chick. This is normal - I have so much going on right now, between school and volleyball and friends and Ry - er .. and, and everything .. well, of _course_ my aura's gonna be whacked. My life's in a state of shambles."

I took a big bite out of my sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. Chick was looking at me, strangely still, but she seemed to have relaxed at least a _little _in her spot.

"Alright," she said finally, leaning back into the armchair. Her eyes trailed back over to the television. "Alright."

I smiled, munching happily on my sandwich and successfully ignoring the uneasy feeling that had settled in my stomach. I reached over to the remote and unmuted the television.

"Bitch," Chick mumbled.

_The life of the African elephant is - _

_Riiiing. Riiiing._

"I just wanna watch TV," I moaned, dropping the remaining bits of my sandwich onto the coffee table.

"It's Bitchface, ignore it."

I rolled my eyes and reached behind me to pluck the phone off of the hook. "Hello?"

"Friday, lunch. Me and you. Tasty num nums at Flora's Cafe."

"Soph, you know anytime there's food involved, I'm down."

From beside me, Chick clicked her tongue in disgust and frowned. For some reason, those in which I'd never ever understand, Chick had hated Sophie from the first day she'd stepped into my apartment. Bitchface, as she so lovingly called her, had never done anything to her. How could she? Chick was a ghost, Sophie didn't even know she existed. Well. Actually. I guess Chick _didn't_ really exist, did she? Either way, Sophie was making enemies even _beyond_ the grave. I'd asked Chick on numerous occasions why she disliked Sophie so much. And everytime I did, she'd respond with the same thing.

"She's a slob and she's a bitch," Chick would say, over and over again.

When Sophie would leave, Chick would swear after her. "Get out of here, blonde dunce. Get your stick ass out! Ugh, the apartment smells like whore now, where is the Febreeze, Harlow? GAH."

I'd reprimanded her many-a time about it, but what good would it do? She was dead, how could you possibly threaten a ghost? Until people actually came up with those Ghostbuster's ghost collecting cans you attach to a vacuum, I had literally no power over Chick. Ohh, how badly I wanted someone to make one of those .. what were they busy doing anyways? I can't think of anything more important.

"Practice'll only go until about 11:30, anyways. Not too long," I assured her, munching down the last of my sandwich.

"Why do we have to be there at 9:00," she whined. "That's so _early_ .. I haven't woken up at nine in _forever. _Har-_lowwwwww._"

"Because we have to hand out the Summer schedules," I sighed, propping my feet up on the coffee table. "We're lucky the PSU staff all have the convention in-services tomorrow off campus, otherwise we'd be unable to do it period."

"But on a Friday day-off, that _earrrrrly_," she moaned. "You're killin' me."

"Better tomorrow then the weekend," I countered. "You know how pissy the team gets when we call practice early on the weekends."

"Ugh. Why can't we just bump the whole thing back to tomorrow evening?"

"Because half the team is gone tomorrow evening to the Summer course seminar."

"Can't we do it without them?"

"Stop whining," I sighed, nestling into the big cushions behind me. "It's not going to be a hard practice. God, you're sounding like Natalie."

"Don't you **ever** compare me to Natalie," she said irritably. "I may be dumb, but that's a **whole** other level. There's dumb, and then there's stupid, and then there's mental retardation and then there's Natalie."

_Bzzzzzt!_

"Then stop bitching like her," I said, uncrossing my legs and grudgingly hoisting myself up off the couch. "I'll talk to you tomorrow though, someone's at the door."

"You expecting anyone?" she asked.

"Mm .. no, I don't think so."

"It's probably a rapist, you're gonna die. Bye."

"Bitch."

_Click._

"Who is it?" Chick asked, looking curiously at me from the chair.

"I don't know," I said, padding away from the living room.

Everytime the doorbell rang, or someone came over, I had half the mind to tell Chick to go and hide somewhere so they didn't see her - I didn't want any of my guests to be freaked out by the little 20 year old blonde ghost sittin' on my love seat.

But then, of course, I'd realize I was an idiot, and no one except me - why, oh why me? - could see her.

I stopped at the large, wooden door and peered through the peep hole - my breath caught in my throat

My hands shook a little as I undid the locks clumsily, my heart beating painfully against my chest, my stomach flopping with butterflies. I slid the deadbolt across and flung the door open with an embarrassing amount of excitement.

"Ryan!"

**(Ryan)**

Two and a half hours after I'd knocked on her door, here I was - sitting next to her on her couch. She was curled up next to me, head on my arm, hands around my waist. My arm was around her thin shoulders, other hand resting on top of her own two small ones. Some shitty movie was playing on the television - The Holiday? Your Holiday? Holidays? Last Holiday? I don't know - it was terrible. But it was mostly background noise, to be completely honest.

"I still can't believe you brought all of this," she said softly, nestling her head cozily into my shoulder.

"I just didn't want you to be stressed, that's all," I replied, fairly calmly for someone who had the girl of his **dreams** wrapped around his body.

No, _actually_. I'm serious. Her vagina was probably six inches away from my hip. Oh my sweet lordy.

After walking Harlow off to her class earlier in the day, I'd decided on bringing her a couple of little ... 'necessities'. Things I thought she needed, might want, might appreciate. A bag of groceries (she'd been looking strangely frail since last week), a couple of new book releases (I figured she could get to after the exams were over), flowers (to brighten her up just a little bit), a Kit Kat (her favorite kind of chocolate bar), magazines, five hour energy shots, a bag of apples and wine.

Yes. Wine was one of those things.

C'mon, it could've been worse. I could've brought her condoms or somethin', right? Subtle, much?

She'd cracked the bottle and we were now dangerously close to the bottom of it. I felt groggy but strangely alert. Aware of exactly what was happening. Harlow, who I could tell wasn't much of a drinker, was sleepy, heavy-eyed. Strangely flirtatious.

I _liked_ semi-drunk Harlow!

She pulled her head from my arm, and peered up at me with her doe eyes. She batted her eyelashes a few times, before smiling.

"You're simply the sweetest."

I smiled in spite of myself, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I don't know about that one."

She leaned forward this time, but I wasn't caught off guard, oh no, not me! See, it'd been happening - casually, sweetly, innocently - **all** night now.

With the ease of someone who actually _knew_ what they were doing, I took her face in my hands, her skin soft and warm against my own palms - her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol. Her lips pressed against mine, soft at first, then a bit harder. I could feel her breath on my face, feel her eyelashes tickle my skin. I could feel her soft hair brush past my cheek. Her left hand ran over my chest, sure and strong. My own hand moved from her face, over to her back, up and down her thin frame, and finally resting on the small of her back. I wanted to touch every inch of her. Remember every curve, every bone, every soft part of her body. She breathed in, other hand snaking around my neck, body pulling closer to my own.

By now, although I hadn't quite gotten _used_ to it, I was getting a little better at controlling my spastic brain and heart from exploding. Yeah, sure, I had only the most beautiful girl up against my chest, mouth nibbling at mine hungrily. But whatever. So? Big deal.

Oh, riiiight. **BIG FREAKIN' DEAL, OHGODOHGODOHGOD.**

Her hand raised from my chest, snaked around the other side of my neck. I pulled her in, closer to me yet, her chest now against my own. Her lips had parted, kisses had deepened, hands were running through my hair. I was surprised how light she was, I could pick her up with one arm if I had wanted to.

She broke away first, nose resting on my own.

"I'm glad you came tonight," she said softly, hand running sensually down the back of my neck.

"I'm glad I came too," I said, rubbing her sides lightly with my thumbs.

She leaned away and grabbed her glass of wine from the table - there were only a few sips left inside.

"How long had you planned on coming down?" she asked, eyes twinkling even more than her crystal glass.

"Only after I'd walked you to class," I admitted, crossing my leg. "You looked so tired, just drained. I figured you could use some food, some candy, some entertainment. Some .. wine."

We both laughed, and she nuzzled back into her couch, lips pressed against the side of the cup. "It feels so nice to be able to take a break from it all."

"I was worried you wouldn't be here," I said, looking over at her petite frame curled into a little ball next to me. "I thought you might've gone out with Sophie."

She shook her head. "Naw. Soph's my best friend, but we need time apart, too. I think if we were together all the time, I'd kill her."

I laughed. "I always thought you guys were like peas and carrots."

She grinned. "We are. I can't imagine life without her, not even for one second. But we both come from really different .. families, if you can call them that. Backgrounds I guess is more accurate. She's an only child, and I had five siblings. She's used to peace and quiet, and I had never had it."

"Five siblings? I thought you only had the two ... brother and a sister?" I asked, looking quizzically at her.

She shook her head. "Brody and Kingston are the only ones that lived past the age of two, and that were with me up until I was removed from my mother's custody. I had three other ones, two sisters, one brother. I didn't know the first two that well, though, so I suppose I can't count them. And the third one, my first brother, my memories of him are kind of sparse. My mum was married five times by the time I had even turned six."

"Five times?" I repeated incredulously. "Which one was your dad?"

"Well, I was the last born, the youngest," she said thoughtfully. "My dad was her third husband. She was married to a guy named Tom first, they had twin girls named Shiloh and Lawny. Shiloh died a couple months after she was born, from my understanding. But when it comes to my mother, you never really know what's the truth and what's just a story to cover her own ass. Tom took Shiloh when they split up. He died, I don't know when or how, and she was put in Foster care."

"Do you know where she is now?" I asked, dreading the answer but interested nonetheless.

"Dead," Harlow replied vaguely. "It's a tough system to survive. She wasn't much older than I was when I was placed .. I was one of the lucky ones, if you can even call it that."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, wanting to know but not wanting her to have to elaborate.

She shrugged again indifferently. "They were the first. I'd never met them, only seen a couple of photos. Shiloh looked a lot like me when I was a baby. Lawny I imagined looked a lot like Tom when he was young. My mother divorced him two years after they were married. She worked at a brothel for a year after that, found out she was pregnant a month after she'd quit the place. Had the third oldest, Oliver. Then a couple months after Ollie, she met a guy named Vance. Married him, and a couple of weeks after that, she found out she was pregnant again. Brody was born next, a year younger than Ollie. A little over a year after Brody, she had Kingston and kicked Vance to the curb. Loaded up Ollie, Brody and Kings in a minivan and ditched whatever city she'd been living in at the time."

"How much older is Kingston than you?"

"Two years," she replied. "I don't know much about what happened in that time. I was young, you know. Everything I've gathered since then I've learned from other people, records. All I know is my dad's name was Keith Vincent, and a year after I was born he died."

"That's awful," I whispered.

She smiled coldly at the wall. "Coward. I was born almost exactly two years after Kingston - our birthdays are only a couple of days apart. After my dad died, we moved to Nevada, she eloped with some oil tycoon down there, the marriage was annulled the next day. And a month later, she met Kurt."

"Your step-dad, I guess?"

"For the rest of the time I lived with my Mum."

"Was he a nice guy?"

"As nice as reaching into a jar of vinegar filled with barbed wire."

"Shit."

She ran a hand through her hair, eyes lost in thought. "When I was six, my mother - Nia - she got into a big fight with him, Kurt. About Brody. They fought all the time, but this one .. this one was different."

She readjusted her legs, and took the last big sip of wine.

"I don't remember what it was about, exactly. I remember Brody being calm, though. She was the oldest, she always dealt with their moods. She'd protect Kingston and I, even if it cost her .. everything."

"What happened to Oliver?" I asked, remembering that according to date, _he_ should have been the oldest.

Harlow frowned, pondering. "I don't know. After my fourth birthday, I don't remember him being there. Brody never talked about him, Kingston didn't remember."

"He just disappeared?"

"From _my_ memories, at least."

"Haven't you ever wondered what happened to him?"

"All the time," she said simply. "I've looked back on years and years of paperwork. He wasn't even in the system. There's no record of him having even been born. I know he was, because I have photos. Only a couple, but I know it's him."

"Do you think he's still alive?"

She shook her head, eyes resigned. "No. My family doesn't have the greatest track record of survival. All I know is that as soon as he left - died, disappeared, whatever - Brody was the leader."

There were chunks of this story, pieces and facts that didn't make sense. How can a person be wiped from the face of this Earth without a trace? What did she mean her real father was a coward? How had her eldest sister, Shiloh, died in the system? There were gaping holes that she hadn't - refused, maybe - to fill in. But I wasn't a big enough idiot to question them, ask her. She was telling me more than I think she'd told anyone in the years since, maybe even ever. I should appreciate what she _did_ entrust in me. It made her uncomfortable - every time I knew she was holding something in, her face darkened. Guarded itself. Was it herself she was protecting this from? Was it me? Someone else? I couldn't know for sure.

Maybe one day I'd learn what happened. The _whole_ story, **without** the gaps.

"What happened that night? When you were six, with Brody and your mom and step-dad fighting?"

Harlow placed her glass on the table in front of her. She didn't speak for a moment, but instead curled into a ball and lay her head in my lap. I ran a hand over her side, rested an arm around her stomach. She sighed, caressing my leg gently with her hand.

"We had run upstairs, all three of us - Nia and Kurt were screaming at the each other in the kitchen. Kingston - he wasn't well, he never has been - he was on the bed in the guest room, crying and yelling. He did that when he was upset, he would just completely lose control. Brody usually dealt with him, it was better than letting Kurt deal .. nevermind. I had followed Brody. She was my big sister, y'know? When you're little, you rely so much on your older siblings."

She drew her legs up a little closer to her stomach. Her voice betrayed no signs of sadness or horror, it was flat, toneless.

"She told me she had had enough, that the police would be here soon for Kingston and I. I didn't know what she meant .. she told me to go take care of King, that he needed me. I always listened to her .. I wish I hadn't that night. Maybe things would've been a little different. I went into the other room, tried to calm King down but he was having another episode and there was nothing I could do. Brody was _always_ the one that helped him. I went back into the room to get her, tell her I couldn't calm him down, but by then .. it was too late. I hadn't registered what she'd said. _'The police will be here soon for you and Kingston'_. I was an idiot not to have thought about what that really implied. That she wouldn't be coming. If I was older, I would've put the two together. King and I, without her. Her admitting she had had enough. But I was only six, I didn't .. "

She paused, and rolled over on her back, took my hand and squeezed it very lightly. Her face was hardened, emotionless. There were no hints of tears, of pain, of sorrow. There was just her. Recounting what had probably been the worst moment of her life, with next to nothing emotion wise.

"She'd killed herself by then. I saw her do it. I had only been gone for three minutes, no more. I saw her .. go, and I panicked, freaked out. Kingston was screaming, Nia and Kurt were fighting, Brody was dead. I had saw it with my own two eyes. I was only six, remember, so I couldn't really fully understand what was happening. It's hard to comprehend death at any age, but seeing it, really _seeing_ it .. it makes it that much more surreal. I made the mistake to run downstairs to get Nia, tell her what had happened. She'd never cared before .. I don't know why I thought today would be any different."

She laughed humorlessly, resting her hands on her belly. It scared me a little, seeing her like this. I would never admit it. But it did. How one could talk about death and suicide like this, without emotion, without feelings. It was **her** memory, but it was **me** that it was affecting the most.

"I walked down into the kitchen where Nia and Kurt had been yelling at each other. The closer I got, the more I realized that it wasn't yelling anymore. It was crying, and it was pleading. And it was coming from Kurt, not Nia. It'd never been like that before, it was always her .. don't get me wrong, though. She was never the victim, she was as much as the offender as anyone. I heard Kurt crying, and I ran down the stairs, as _fast_ as I could. I just _flew_ into the kitchen. Right in time to see Nia, my own mother, raise a shot gun up to Kurt's throat. I saw it all. And then after he dropped on the floor, she turned it on me."

I guess she felt the sharp intake of breath I tried to hide, and she turned her eyes up to my face. They were worried, filled with concern.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have told you all that."

I shook my head. "I'm glad you did, honest. I just .. I can't imagine any mother who could've done something like that."

"She could've," Harlow said quietly. "And she would've. But the police got there a second later."

"Thank God," I muttered. "Right on time."

"Was it though?" she said thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. "Kurt wasn't a good person. But no one deserves to die like that. And what about Brody? They saved me, but they were too late for everyone else."

I nodded solemnly. "That's true, I guess. What happened to your mother?"

"They arrested her, charged her with homicide and negligence. A load of other things. She was sentenced to death, and twelve years later she was gone."

"Did you ever talk to her again."

Harlow hesitated, but shook her head. "No, I can honestly say I didn't."

"What happened to Kingston?"

"He survived," she said simply. "As best as any of us could, I guess. But he was never the same again. He lives in New Jersey now."

"Do you still talk to him?" I asked.

"He doesn't remember me anymore," she said softly, and for the first time the entire story, I saw a hint of misery pass over her face. "He's .. not well."

I looked at her carefully, and she looked back at me. She turned slightly, edging her way back up into a sitting position. She scooted a little closer to me, questioningly, and I pulled her as close to me as I could. She nuzzled up to my chest, the two of us falling slowly back. We lay together on the couch in silence for ten minutes, one arm wrapped around her shoulder, one around her lower back. Her hand was over my stomach, face nuzzled against my side.

After a few moments, she rested her chin lightly on my arm and smiled. "Thanks for listening."

"Thanks for telling me," I said softly, returning the smile.

"Don't think of me too differently now," she said, in all seriousness.

She patted my stomach, and burrowed once again into my side.

"Would you change it? All of that, your life - would you change it if you could?" I asked softly, exhaustion flooding my entire body.

"I haven't known anything else," she murmured next to me. "I can't change what I don't know."

"I guess it _has_ made you who you are," I said quietly, arms wrapped around her warm body. "Taught you what you know."

"To fight and fight again," she whispered.

And as silence fell over the room, her voice floated up to my ears one last time, softer than I'd ever heard it.

"And to keep fighting."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HOLAAAAAAAA. I'm not even going to try and make an excuse to why I haven't updated in like fifty years. I will just stand before you lovelies and allow you to throw things at me and be angry and hate me and all of that. I still love you guys though? *puppy dog eyes*

This has gotta be quick, since I'm running on like a 12% battery life on my laptop, so lemme just say (pulls out piece of paper with all my lovely reviewers names on it) - THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, TO:

xDeadlyImperfectionx (you're amazeballs), Sora (let's be friends?), (WE HAVE THE SAME DREAMS! can you say, soulllll sistahs?), Kakashis-girl90 (i think you're WONDERFUL!), weasley0 (i must say, i love your name - ronald billius weasley ftw? and rip fred :(), starlight (i'm hooked on YOU!), ModWolf98 (you're the hottest hottie that's ever walked the face of this earth), lindzxhatter (HI MY LOVE, MY LIFE, MY SHAWDEEE MAH WIFE, how're the kids?), Chanel (i'm glad you decided to review! thank you!), xoxoMyRealityIsFiction (my reality is ALSO fiction, we're twins!), Luna (you super precious wonderful ball of adorable, i'm sorry it took so long!), kcollins (i've missed you, my love!) and heyymelx3 (how is this ryan hunting going? please fill me in asap!).

You guys make my entire lives. I just wanted to say that. Also, Michelle Belanger may or may not make an appearance in this little ficcy of mine, but Chad absolutely will. Although I really dislike him, he's gonna be super important later on in the story, me thinks. Anyways, I'm off to watch Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. LONG LIVE DOBBY *cries*

**love;** _ellah!_


	14. Plug His Nose Until He Gags

**Chapter Thirteen**

Plug His Nose Until He Gags

**(Harlow)**

_Ringggggg. Ringggggggg._

What in God's name was the **heinous** noise?

I blinked, my eyes hazy and bleary from a mixture of little sleep and day's old mascara. Was that a phone? Was it my oven? Was it the television, an alarm? Was it even coming from my apartment? Christ almighty, what was that _sound_?

_Ringgggg. Ringgggg._

**Ugh**. Definitely phone.

I rubbed at my eyes frantically, willing them to open and unhaze at least a _little_ bit - y'know, just enough so I could find my God damn phone. But as the room around me focused, and my dumbfounded brain seemed to snap back into reality, I realized with quite a start that I wasn't alone. I was on my couch, I knew that. The television, muted again, was flashing advertisements for some local Seafood place. Chick, although I couldn't see her, I could sense she was somewhere in the bathroom, doing God only knows what. Behind me, breathing slow and warm body tight against my own -

was Ryan.

I blinked again and again, trying to make sense of the pounding in my skull and the ringing in my ears. Slowly, carefully and with as little movement as I could manage, I rolled off the warm sofa onto the rough carpet below me. I peered at the sleepy face only a foot from my own, and couldn't help but smile -

what a cutie pie!

Sleep was a good look on him. His face was relaxed, at ease. Less stressed by far than I'd ever seen it. Long eyelashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. He looked like a little angel, nestled cozily on my couch. I looked behind me, and could barely contain my laughter - a wine bottle, empty except for a few little drops at the bottom. Two cups, dry as a bone. And a bag of other assorted items, from chocolate bars to books to flowers.

Running a hand through my mess of hair, I crept slowly to my feet and towards my bedroom, down one of the narrow hallways leading away from the living room. With a quiet little _creak_, I opened the door to my bedroom. My sheets and blankets, unrumpled and pulled up to the pillows - unused, unneeded. The alarm clock on the table beside it unset - the bright red numbers pulsating in my slightly hungover but cheerful haze. 9:14AM. Not too bad.

Oh wait. That **was** bad ... more than bad, it was **TERRIBLE**.

AHH SHIT, SHIT, _SHIT_.

Frantically, I ran to the dresser across from the foot of my bed and grabbed the phone off the hook, smacking the familiar numbers as quickly as I could manage. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. The phone was ringing, and half of me (the smarter, more awake half) prayed the owner wouldn't pick up -

"Where, in the holy **fuck**, are you?"

"I'm sorry, Soph, I'm sorry!" I said, my voice cracked and raspy, like a 90 year olds who's smoked eight packs a day since she was two. _Gross_. "I slept through my alarm, I was up late - uh, homework, y'know? I'm so sorry, I forgot to set it!"

I could hear her tongue clicking irritably, and the familiar sound of runners pounding the gym floor behind her. Oh God, they'd already started practice - ughhh! "What am I supposed to do, send them home? They're gonna have _the_ biggest bitch fit, Harlow."

"No, no, don't send them home," I said, raking my hair back again in frustration. "Soph, you're a more competent coach than I am, I swear to God you are. I'll be there as soon as I can, I won't even bathe or pee or anything, I promise. Get them to do laps, stretch it out and get them to work on setting and combination drills - I'll be there, I swear I'll rush."

"When will you be here," she asked, irritation simply _oozing_ out of that cold voice.

"Ten at the absolute latest, I swear," I said, already pulling my hair up into what might've gone down in history as the messiest, absolute _greasiest_ bun ever. "I'm sorry Soph, I'll be there soon."

"I know, I know," she sighed. "But hurry up. I'm the bitch coach, not the nice and encouraging one. They need you for their self esteem."

I laughed dryly. "I know they do, I'm sorry. Be there soon."

"I'll forgive you for now. But that's only because in the last week you've looked like a living, breathing zombie," she said wearily. "Hurry your ass, Lo."

"It's halfway out the door," I lied, and with a _Beep_, I hung up the phone.

Ah shit, shit shit shit. I had no time to worry about the awkward questions and scrutinizing stares I was bound to be on the receiving end of **all** practice. I yanked my shirt over my head, and scrambled around in a daze, looking for my undershirt and Volley sweater. My sweatpants were halfway up my legs when I remembered the _slightly _(y'know, only a **liiiiitle **bit) important reason I'd been late in the first place.

"Mother fu - "

"Your runners are in the bathroom," said that familiar toneless voice from behind me, and I swear I jumped about a foot.

"Warn me next time you sneak up on me!" I hissed, looking frantically between her and my bedroom door.

"Don't freak, he's still conked out on the sofa," she said breezily, curling up noiselessly on my dresser.

"Not for much longer," I muttered, hastily pulling my sweater on.

"The hangover, sleep-deprived look isn't your best," Chick noted, looking me up and down.

"It'll have to do," I said quietly, padding into the hall and grabbing my sneakers from the bathroom floor.

"Socks," said Chick, and I felt the light _thud_ of the rolled up pair hit me in the back of the head.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

Struggling to stick my foot in my sock as I hobbled back towards the living room, I snuck a quick glance at my reflection in the mirror. Oh **GOD**. Sweet _Jesus_. Anyone know who Nick Nolte is? Ever seen his mugshot? Because I swear to God, that's what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I didn't look a volleyball player. I looked like a homeless perp who was just booked for drug-smuggling and prostitution.

My sock struggles ended, and I padded as quietly as I could to the sofa. I plopped down on the couch near Ryan's legs, and contemplated the best way to wake up the cute as a button lil ol' ghostbuster.

"Plug his nose until he gags," I heard Chick mumble as she floated across the living room and into the kitchen.

I shot her the dirtiest look I could muster (and considering my morning appearance of crazed crack whore, I'm sure it was pretty good), and turned back to the slumbering sweet pea next to me.

"Ryan?" I said softly, rubbing his arm as gently as I could. "Wake up, sleepy."

He mumbled a little, and burrowed his face into the cushion. DAWWWWE, WHAT AN ADORABLE MONSTER. I grinned in spite of myself, and patted his arm a little harder.

"Come on, doofy, wake up," I said, shaking his arm a little. "I gotta get going, and I'm sure you do too ... wake up, Sleepy!"

He exhaled loudly, and rolled over onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face.

"M'up, I'm up," he sighed, voice croaky and soft. "I'm up."

I smiled, my hand resting on his lean arm. "It's early, I know, I'm sorry."

"What time is it?" he asked groggily, peering at me through half closed eyes.

"Quarter after nine," I replied, glancing at the clock. "Normally I'd still be asleep, but uh .. I kinda forgot I had volleyball practice this morning ..."

His eyes shot open, and he looked at me apologetically. "Ah, I'm sorry! I'm awake, I'm awake."

I laughed, and shook my head. "It's okay, really - I've already called Soph and begged for her forgiveness - it's my own fault, I forgot to set my alarm."

I shifted over on the couch as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. His hair was messy, eyes puffy from the little sleep we'd both gotten. He had a distinctly ruffled look that I couldn't help but find ridiculously sexy. He smiled at me, legs stretched out in front of him.

"Sophie's not gonna kill you, is she?"

"I hope not," I sighed. "I told her I'd be there by ten at the absolute latest, and I _did_ call her, so she can't be **too** mad at me. I gave her fair warning."

He laughed, leaning back into the couch exhaustively. "Good, that's good."

"I'm sorry I had to wake you," I said sincerely, looking rather apologetically at those bright albeit sleepy brown eyes. "Next time we drink an entire bottle of wine and crash on my couch, I swear I'll let you sleep in."

He smiled, and rubbed my back with one of those big hands I loved so much. "I don't care if you wake me up at five in the morning - as long as there **is** a next time, I'm the happiest man in the world."

I laughed, and hoping to God my morning breath wasn't as bad as I thought it was, leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips.

"There'll always be a next time, unless you get sick of me first," I said cheerfully.

"That'll never happen," he murmured quietly, taking my face in his hands.

AWE, THIS WAS **THE** MOST MAGICAL MOMENT IN THE ENTIRE WORLD EVER EVER,_ SQUEEEEEEE_.

"I hope not," I said softly.

He rubbed my cheeks lightly with his thumbs, and kissed me again - this time a little harder, with just a hint more passion that the first. Ugh, he made my whole body tingle. That bastard.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, careful not to crush him with my ridic Popeye forearms, and kissed him back. For once in my life, volleyball really **didn't** matter. I suddenly and inexplicably felt a pang of anger at Sophie - how dare she wake me up. I could've lain on this couch all day making out with Ryan McHotlips. Stupid best friends, they could be _so_ inconvenient sometimes.

He pulled away first, giving me another soft peck on the lips.

"You want breakfast or anything?" he asked, running his hands down my back - oooh, **goosebumps**!

"No time," I sighed sadly. "If I want to live to see tomorrow, I've got to get going."

He nodded. "We should do this again soon. If you want to, of course."

"I'd love nothing more," I said, trying to hide that horrifically embarrassing note of enthusiasm in my voice.

He smiled, and I let my hands rest on his knee.

"I'm leaving for a couple days to meet with the execs from A&E," he said thoughtfully. "I'm heading out tomorrow, be back around Wednesday."

"I'm leaving too," I said, remembering with a start that our first Nationals game was on Sunday. "National's start this weekend. Shit ... I forgot about it!"

"Where is it?"

"New York," I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly. "First of twenty games, I completely forgot."

"Uh .. _I'm_ going to New York," Ryan said, beautiful eyes wide with surprise.

"You're - what? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah!" he said excitedly.

"Shut up!" I said, my heart simply _leaping_ with joy. "I'll be in New York on Sunday, about eight o'clock in the evening. Our game's Monday at 11, and I leave on Tuesday at nine in the morning."

"I'm there tomorrow at noon," he said. "Leaving New York at six in the evening on Wednesday!"

"As if!" I said excitedly. "Maybe we'll see each other!"

"I'll make sure we do," he said, his face alight with happiness. "I've got meetings on the Tuesday, but I'll be with Heather and Serge and Katrina and the whole gang, we've got a couple of seminars to do as well. We'll come watch your match, they're not until later that night!"

"That would be **amazing**! I wanna come and see your seminars!"

Ryan laughed, grasping my hand in his own. "I would _love_ that. Man, talk about a stroke of luck, eh?"

I was thinking more along the lines of fate, but I figured squealing excitedly and saying something like "OH MAH GAWD, WE ARE MEANT TO BE IT'S FATEEEE" would _kiiiinda_ creep him out, y'know?

"No kidding," I ended up saying, squeezing his hand.

"You have to get going," he said, taking a peek at the clock behind him.

I looked over his shoulder and sighed. "You're right. Dammit."

"Well, hey! At least I'll be seeing you," he said cheerfully, as we both stood up from the couch.

"I _actually_ can't even wait," I said sincerely.

And before either one of us could take even a _step_ to the front door of my apartment, we were locked together once more, bodies pressed feverishly against one another, hands grasping for any bit of clothing or skin we could find. Ten o'clock, ten fifteen - whatever. I'd deal with Sophie's wrath anyday - making out with Ryan was **so** worth it.

Maybe New York wasn't gonna be such a drag after all?

**(Sergey)**

"Calm down, Xander, calm _down_!"

Xander was frantic, pawing at the front door and leaping about, barking shrilly as he watched Ryan pad across the front walk and towards the screen door.

I sipped what might've been my thirteenth coffee of the day, and readjusted myself irritably on the couch. Friday morning, no school, no work - a nice relaxing day to just sit at home and curl up on the sofa. Watch a little television. Play a little Halo. Y'know. Guy stuff. I assumed I'd be home with Ryan all day, but ... well, that didn't exactly pan out, now did it?

After banging on his door for five minutes this morning, I'd finally busted myself into his room and - bum bum bahhhh - found his bed empty. His sheets were unmade, but that didn't tell me much; the day Ryan actually made his bed or cleaned his room was the day Hell froze over. After wandering around the house and finally determining that he _wasn't_, in fact home, I called his cell to try and figure out where the hell he'd gone at eight in the morning. And when his phone went straight to voicemail, I had concluded that either:

a), he had been abducted from his bed and was now being held hostage somewhere in a random Buffalo Bill a la Silence of the Lambs type guy's basement.

b), he had gotten up early to go jogging, which considering he probably couldn't even **spell** jogging let alone actually do it, was highly unlikely.

or c), he hadn't come home at all the previous evening.

"Yes, hello, hellohello, I'll take you out in a minute, gimme a sec, Xander."

Against Xander's frantic jumping and barking, Ryan fought his way into our front hall and gave me a weary smile.

"Serge," he said, snapping the door shut behind him. "Lemme guess - 10:30 in the morning so that must be your ... fifth cup of coffee?"

"Fourth, actually," I sniffed. "I'm not _that_ bad."

"Fourth, uh huh - I'm sure," he laughed, fighting his way into the chair opposite me - Xander nipped and leaped after him.

"And where are you coming home from so sleepily and early in the morning?" I asked, looking him over.

His face was bright and cheerful, but his movements were slow, sluggish. There were bags under his eyes, and everytime Xander whined shrilly, he winced at the sound.

"Oh y'know," he said, scratching Xander behind the ears. "Harlow's."

I raised my eyebrows, and tried to fight the clearly skeptical looking passing over my face. "Harlow? Harlow Vincent?"

"Do we know another one?" he smiled.

"What were you doing there?" I asked.

"Just ... hangin' out."

"Hangin' out? All night?"

"Yeah, y'know. Just drinking wine, talking. Hangin' out."

"Reaaaaally. '_Hangin' Out_'?"

"Yep."

"You sure it was just hanging out."

"Quite sure."

"None of that, y'know ... bow chicka _wow wowwwww._"

He flushed. "No, man. I'd tell you if there was."

"Bow bow, bow chicka chicka wowwww."

"None of that."

" ... Bow bowwww."

He rolled his eyes and leaned back into the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "None of that. We just drank too much wine too fast and passed out on her couch. She woke me up early cause she had to go to volleyball practice."

I looked at him suspiciously, but could tell by the look on his face he was telling the truth. Best friend's instincts, y'know?

"Alright," I said slowly. "Want a cuppa?"

"Love one," he said appreciatively, running a hand over his head. "You _are_ the best."

"Tell me about it," I groaned, standing up from my comfy spot on the couch.

I padded into the kitchen, still stealing doubting glances at Ryan. Besides the obvious exhaustion in his face and movements, he looked ... happy. _Really_ happy. The corners of his mouth kept twitching up, and there was a definite skip in his groggy step. If he didn't get laid, what was the cheeriness all about? Sherlock Serge would get to bottom of it. **MWAHAHAHA.**

"You want the creamer or do you want milk?" I asked through the bar window.

"Milk and sugar - lots of sugar," he said. "I gotta wake up .. I need to get down to the office, sort some stuff out before we leave tomorrow. Without _copious_ amounts caffeine and sugar in my body, I'm not gonna be able to."

I nodded, heaping three spoonfuls of sugar into the mug, and adding a little bit of milk.

"Fair enough, man. Sooo .. why do you look so happy?" I asked casually, stirring slowly.

"Whaddaya mean," he asked, a dopey grin spreading over his face - they said _I_ was a terrible liar? Puh-lease.

"You sure you didn't get laid?" I asked again, walking carefully with the steaming coffee towards him.

"Thanks," he said, taking the mug from me. "No, I didn't."

"You look like a dope," I said bluntly, taking a seat back on the sofa. "What're you so happy for."

He sighed, and sipped from his cup noisily. Then, without warning, his face broke into an even wider grin and he laughed raucously.

"Serge, it was **awesome**. I brought her all that food and flowers and wine and stuff, and we sat on her couch and we talked about _everything_. Her childhood and mine, what her favorite hobbies were, what kinda movies I liked, what her favorite restaurant was, what my favorite car was - everything under the sun. We made out **all** night, dude. **All** night, she's got great lips, fan_tastic_, you have **no **idea. And fuck, she's gorgeous - well you know, you've seen her but really man, **really** attractive."

He leaned forward in his chair, eyes bright and hands nearly shaking with excitement - his coffee was threatening to slop out of his mug with each tremor.

"And guess what, dude. Guess. What. _Guess what_! She's gonna be in New York! She's coming to New York!"

"With us?" I asked in surprise, my _own_ coffee nearly splashing over the sides.

"No, no - not with us. She's going there for volleyball with her team. They're playing the NYU or something. She's leaving on Sunday, she's got her first match for Nationals in New York on Monday - Monday, Serge! We'll be there! _WE'RE GONNA BE THERE!_"

He fell back against the chair, dazed and smiling, oblivious to the scalding hot coffee that was soaking it's way through his shirt.

"That's great, man," I said earnestly, fighting against the laughter threatening to escape from my throat. "_Really_ great."

"It's better than great," he sighed, eyes glazed. "It's _perfect._"

I blinked, and fought back another laugh, this time with much more difficulty. "Ryan .. like, you know you're my best friend. And everything I tell you is for the greater good, right?"

"Yeah man, yeah," he said distractedly.

"Alright .. dude. Bro. Listen. You're having a Chick Fit," I said, and he shot me his embarrassing attempt at a dirty look.

"I am _not_."

"Yeah man. You are. You're all dreamy and eye fluttery and giggly. _Total_ Chick Fit."

"I'm just happy, that's all," Ryan said defensively, with a girlish little giggle following a second later.

I rolled my eyes, laughing. "Right. Alright, alright. You're just happy then."

"Yep. That's all. That's right."

"Okay."

"Yep."

Silence filled the room, and I sipped my coffee to keep from snickering even more at the horrifically thick look on my dear best friend's face. He sighed, curled up into the chair and peered across at me, face perched in his palm.

"She's got pretty hair," he sighed.

"And here we go," I muttered.

"Her eyes are like _emeralds_, they're so shiny and pretty and nice and so **sparkly**," he said dreamily.

"That's great, Mrs. Buell."

"Oooh, oh! And her skin is so soft, I bet you she moisturizes **all **the time. She's so pretty."

"Mhm. You should ask her what moisturizing cream she uses, maybe you have the same kind in your makeup bag. You could share."

He sighed whimsically, ignoring me. "She's so fit too, Serge, she's got muscles but not like weird woMAN muscles, y'know? They're so nice, oh my _goodness_."

"Christ."

"Her lips are all smooshy and plump and nice .. I like them. They're so nice. You think she knows how nice her lips are, Serge? I don't think she knows .. I should tell her. I _should_."

"Ryan."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe tell someone who cares."

He frowned at me, but his face lit up a moment later. "I'm gonna call Heather!"

And he bounded from the room. I shook my head exhaustively and peered over at Xander.

"How long do you think before he starts getting his period?"

Xander whined sadly in response.

**(Sophie)**

"But where _is_ she?"

"I swear to God, Kimmy - ask me that one more time. Once more. Because I have no problem with beating you senseless with this ball."

She grinned guiltily, batting her eyelashes in **the** most obnoxious way humanly possible. _Ugh_.

"I'm just worried about our dear sweet lovely Captain, that's all."

"Me too," simpered Lindsey from beside her. "We're not trying to be _annoying_ Soph, we're just _curious_."

"I'm curious too," I said thoughtfully, shooting both of them furious looks. "Curious as to why you're not practicing your setting when you both **clearly** need all the practice you can get."

They exchanged irritated glances, but the looks soon passed as the door to the gym flung open.

"_There_ she is!" sighed Kimmy, waving over my shoulder - Lindsey beamed next to her.

I peered behind me at the gym doors just as they snapped shut, and couldn't help the cold, _sliiiiightly_ vicious laugh that escaped from my throat. Goddess no more!

"Christ, woman, you know you _could've_ showered."

Giving me a particularly sour glare, Harlow padded over to our little circle of volleyball geeks. The rest of the team, unlike the grievously annoying Kimmy and Lindsey who stood next to me, were working diligently on their setting reps. They all waved distractedly at Harlow, who failed to take any notice.

"No time to bathe," she said briskly, coming to a stop next to me. "Smell my armpits, Soph."

"Get lost," I laughed, swatting her away from me. "Kimmy, Lindsey, back to practice. _Now_."

"We just wanted to see Harlow," whined Kimmy, eyes twinkling. She _knew_ she annoyed me. That little bitch.

"Yes, we're just trying to say hello to our wonderful, dearest friend," Lindsey said with a grin. "And hell-_looooo _Harlow!"

"Bugger off," Lo sighed, giving them equally unimpressed but amused looks. "You know you have to listen to Sophie - get goin' on your reps before I clobber you."

"The thanks we get for being good, kind, caring and concerned friends," sighed Kimmy woefully, as she and Linds padded off to their spot at the far net.

"Those two," tutted Harlow, raking a hand through her mess of hair and glaring as they skipped away.

Although greasy, unkempt and worn out, Harlow still looked abnormally radiant. There was something about her face today that simply _glowed_. Ugh, sweet Jesus, I hope she wasn't pregnant. She turned her eyes to me, and I noticed a little devilish twinkle behind the brilliant green.

"Slept through your alarm, eh?"

She sighed crossly and gave curt nod. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I was just, y'know - preoccupied last night."

"Whatever you say," I shrugged. "You look like hell."

"Ha ha," she mumbled, looking over at the girls warily. "Why don't you tell me something I_ don't_ already know."

"Alright - I know you were with Ryan last night."

She turned her wide, incessantly sparkly eyes on me. "What? How .. how did you know?"

"Well I didn't know for sure, actually. But you just confirmed it," I smirked, dodging the smack headed for my forehead. "Watch it, Vincent - I had already figured it out, you just verified my hypothesis. Don't even give me that look - c'mon, don't you wanna know how I knew?"

"I don't care how," she said grumpily, but the corners of her mouth were twitching slightly. "I don't wanna hear it."

"Yeahhh you do, come on! You wanna know, don'tcha? Don'tcha, don'tcha?"

"No."

"Yes?"

"_No_."

"Don'tcha?"

"**No.**"

"I'm gonna tell you anyways."

"You're fuckin' exhausting," she mumbled, turning away from me and walking down the gym towards the pairs of sweating, swearing and flailing girls.

Oh, like I was gonna let her get away _that_ easy. Who do you think I am? I'm Sophie Kapor, _bitches_. I SHALL PREVAIL.

"Well, I was talking to you last night on the phone, remember that?" I asked, skipping obnoxiously as I could behind her, trying to link arms and pretending to not be offended when she shoved me away - whatta bitch. "And you said you had to go because someone was at the door. Remember that? 'member?"

"Crouch more, Em," Harlow said sternly, ignoring me. "You'll get the ball farther across the net and it'll go a _lot_ straighter if you bend your knees."

"Right-o, Coach," Em said jauntily.

"Now I figured if it was a delivery guy or like .. one of the girls from the team or something, you'd call me back. Which you didn't," I continued jovially. "And when I asked this morning - after you were late, y'know - if anyone'd spoken to you at all since yesterday afternoon, no one had. So that cancels out all the team. Now, I realize I'm your only friend, you sad wittle loner and it **definitely** wasn't me at the door, right? I mean, I think I would've remembered. So then I thought to myself - _hmm, Sophie Kapor, you beautiful and brilliant girl - who could've __**possibly**__ been at Harlow's door last night_?"

"Straighten up, Ainslee, you look like a hunchback," Lo barked, attempting to drown out my voice with her own - _so_ not gonna happen.

"Deepest apologies, Boss," Ains said cheerfully.

"And then it came to me," I said happily, keeping up easily with her quick steps. "Ryan. Ryan Buell. It _must've_ been him. It's been days since you've seen him, and how could you possibly have gone more than 3 moments without him? And I feel like he's the only person in the world capable of making you forget to call me back. He's important, I get it, I do. I admit it. I don't have a penis, I understand that's something I can't give you."

My **God** I was enjoying this.

"It's setting, Jenn, not volleying," Harlow snarled.

"I am terribly sorry, Vince-meister," said Jen merrily.

"I was right though, wasn't I? When everyone arrived this morning before you, I figured that it'd have to have been something **reeeeeally** important to make you late for volleyball," I chirped zestfully next to her. "You would never forget to set your alarm when we had a practice. I've known you long enough to know that you're not that kind of person. You're the _least_ forgetful person I know. There had to have been a _pretty_ important reason why you'd have forgotten a volleyball practice we've had set for **aaaages**."

She turned to me, eyebrows narrowed and pout firmly on those precious lil lips of hers. OH, I KNEW THAT LOOK. I **lived** for that look. It was the glare she gave when she knew I was right - it happened seldom, so when I was on the receiving end of it I cherished it more than a mother cherishes her child. I smiled, ready to gloat - when to my immense surprise, her face lit up gloriously, and her mouth split into the happiest, most cheerful grin I think I'd ever seen on it. Wha .. what? What happened to pummeling me furiously?

"Soph - he's coming to New York!"

Oh. _God_.

"Wh - what?"

"He's coming to New York," she whispered, her face alite with excitement. "He's got a meeting and seminars and shit to do in New York for his television show - he's gonna be in New York with us! We're gonna meet up at our game and we're gonna go on a date or somethin' - somethin' fun, y'know? Fuck, I don't even know what we're gonna do but holy sweet balls of glory, this is amazing!"

"_Why_ is he going to be there."

"I just _told_ you," she said in exasperation, brilliant smile still stuck goofily on her face. "He's leaving tonight because he's gotta do a bunch of work for his show, but he's gonna be there when **we're** there, Soph! Can you believe it! Soph, seriously - if this isn't fate, I don't even know **what** is!"

She flung her arms around my neck, jumping up and down and squealing shrilly in delight. The rest of the team stopped their setting and turned with confused, slightly concerned looks on their faces towards the two of us. Kimmy and Lindsey, to my _intense_ annoyance, grinned sheepishly from a few feet away.

_Maaaaaan._

This trip was gonna _suck._

**(Ryan)**

_"Please ... no, please don't - "_

_A laugh - high, mirthless. Purely evil._

_"I'll do anything, please - oh God, oh God, please - "_

_The face was inches from mine - it was distorted, blurred, but red eyes pierced through the haze of blackened flesh. It laughed again, it's breath was rancid, it's teeth sharp and yellowed. Cracked, chipped - menacing. There was heat, such terrible heat - and the pain .._

_oh God, the pain._

_"Beg him," the voice said - but unlike it's laugh it was deep, furious, croaking._

_"Please God, no - not again, oh God, __**please**__."_

_There was one more laugh, and the face moved an inch closer once more. With it's movements came more heat, more pain - it was excruciating. The face - was it a face? I didn't know, I didn't dare to look - moved closer to me again, now only an inch away from my own._

_"No God."_

_A sharp pain, from the top of my head, down to the feet. The voice - my voice? - screaming, pleading, White hot, like a knife had just split me in two. I writhed around in agony. It wasn't touching me, the thing wasn't near me anymore - but I felt it still. It's insufferable heat, it's razor sharp hold on my body._

_I kept screaming. Begging, crying, pleading. Was there no way out? Was there nothing I could do? Please, oh God, please, somebody save me from this._

_Everything around me was red and black, blood red and jet black. And there were mirrors, glass. I could see fire in the reflection of the glass, of the mirrors around me. I tried to stand, but my feet gave way beneath me. I tried to crawl, but my knees - the pain, the pain was unbearable. _

_I lay, face down, dragging myself, hands blistering in the terrible heat beneath them. I dragged myself, slowly - desperately - away from the voice, from the laughter, from the terrible stench of decaying, rotten flesh coming from the thing's mouth. I screamed - I cried - I pleaded. My skin scraped along the red-hot floor, I felt my own blood, rush from the cuts and gouges of my legs, from my torso, from my hands. My nails dug into the ground, were ripped away in my haste of getting as far away as I could from this ... this _thing_._

_I had made it a couple of inches - I lifted my head, desperate for an escape. There had to be one. But in front of me was a mirror - in it, I saw a face. Bloody, mutilated. White in anguish. Hollowed out, like a skull. Was it _my_ face? Surely, not .._

_The eyes looked back at me, terrified, swollen, wet with tears - globes of horror-struck green._

_Green?_

"Fuck!"

I shot up out of bed, muttering furiously under my breath. I felt a shooting pain erupt from my neck - Shit! I must've pulled something.

Scrambling out from underneath my covers, holding my neck in glorious amounts of pain, I rolled over to the edge of the mattress. The moon was high and full tonight - the air was calm, the stars bright. The sky was black tinged with silver, still and beautiful. I peered apprehensively out my window, down at the empty street below. No one there. Not a person, an animal, a car - nothing. The street was deserted, peaceful.

I glanced over at my clock - 3:34 AM. Nice and early, I had another four hours of sleep left before I had to get my ass moving and to the airport. But the thought of having to wake back up in four more hours was depressing - I was exhausted, shaken - my brain was _pounding_. My head dropped into my hands, my fingers massaging my temples soothingly. When I closed my eyes, blocked out the hum of my clock and Sergey's snores from two rooms over, I could recall bits and pieces of the dream I'd just had. Well, more nightmare than dream. Seriously - what, in the holy _Hell_, was that all about?

It's funny, how a dream so vivid and terrifying can wake you up in an instant, but the second you open your eyes and become consciously aware of your surroundings once more, the dream fades to nothing. Nightmares weren't new to me. I'd been plagued by them for years and years. When I was little, it was about the same, wide-mouth, grinning goblin that would sit at the base of my bed. When I was a teenager, it was always about death. Later,. in my early twenties, it was always about running - running away from a demon. Running away from something (a monster, maybe? A ghost? I was never sure, I never remembered afterwards) as fast as I could. But never quite getting away.

But this dream - this was new to me. I recalled very little about it, but I'd never seen the place or heard that voice or felt that kind of _pain_ before. Not in a dream, anyways. I wracked my brain, trying to remember the details. They were blurred, hazy - like my brain was trying desperately to erase them before I could recall them. I fought against it, fought to remember ...

Heat, a lot of heat. I knew there was heat, because in the dream I - was it me? - had been sweating, blistering from the heat all around me and under me and above me. What else was there? Pain - that was it, immense, terrible, full-body pain. I was fine now, felt sleepy but content. But in that dream - mother of God, the pain was horrific. Like white hot needles everywhere in my body.

And why was I screaming? Surely I wasn't .. that screaming was high-pitched, the crying was a girl's. The pleading, the begging, the voice - familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. It was hoarse, low ... I don't think I knew anyone with that kind of voice. Me, they - whatever - the person was screaming bloody murder, begging for mercy. Mercy from who?

I tapped my foot impatiently on the floor, racking my brain. Mercy from _who_? Think, Ryan, **think.**

'No God'. That's it - I remembered that. The voice that said it, that laughed horribly. It belonged to something black, something huge, something ... terrible. I didn't remember the details of it, all I remembered was the size and the color. Oh! And the breath, I remembered the breath. It stunk like rotten fish, like decaying roadkill. I gave an involuntary sniff, but the scent was gone. I realized, with a start, that I was alright - I was in my room, wasn't I?

I looked around, taking in the comforts of my bedroom. The familiar desk, the bookshelves. The bed underneath me. It was a dream, that's all. I was safe. I was home. I was comfortable. I wasn't in pain, I wasn't dying, I wasn't screaming. I was _fine_.

Peering once more outside, making sure everything really was sound and silent and eerily calm, I curled back into my bed. Warm sheets up to my chin, pillow cool underneath my head. I was calm. At peace once more. Silly, I'd been so silly. A dream can't hurt you, I knew that. My eyelids grew heavy - I was sleepy .. jeeze, was I sleepy.

The buzzing of my clock and the rumbling snores of Sergey were welcome. They were calming - familiar. I smiled, closing my eyes and the wonderful ease of sleep washed over me. But right before I drifted off, one last thought occurred to me - the last image, the final piece of my dream that I could recall. It flashed into my brain, so quick it was rather like it didn't want me to take notice - but I saw it.

Green.

Green what? I remember the green ... but that's all.

Tomorrow, I'd remember ...

Tomorrow.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **LOOK AT THIS, A QUICK AND SPEEDY UPDATE THAT DIDN'T TAKE ME 5350239 MONTHS! And not only do I come bearing a new chapter and everything, I HAVE IMMENSELY EXCITING NEWS FOR ALL YOU LOVE READERS, REVIEWERS AND WIVES OF MINE (alright to be fair, it's more exciting for me than you, but I'm sharing anyways). The chapters SHOULD be coming a LOT faster beecaaaauuuuse -

I've finally finished plotting out the storyline!

OH YES. There will be 48 chapters, the preface and the epilogue. So about 50 different pages for you guys to read. And it's gonna be AMAZING. *squeals* I managed to fit everything I wanted into the story, so I'm thrilled and in a FANTASTIC MOOD.

Now. I must give thanks to the amazing reviewers that have brightened my week considerably with their brilliant reviews!

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction: **THANK YOU, YOU LOVELY BAG OF HOTNESS. I try to write them as close to how I think they really are, and Heather always seemed like kind of ... kind of like an apeshit, crazy Uncle, y'know? She's definitely one of my faves, AND SO ARE YOU.

**ModWolf98:** You make me blush to no end! I LOVE YOU, SWEET SWEET MODWOLF. May you and I always and forever be best friends! Thank you for the review, let's snuggle and eat cookies and watch Paranormal State.

**silentC: **You just coined the coupledom that IS Ryan and Harlow. Rylo. I love you. Oh my sweet goody goodness, you actually made my laugh out loud with your review. And considering I was in a library, that was a bad thing, but you, my sweet darling, are the farthest thing from a bad thing ever. I ADORE YOU.

**Kakashis-girl90:** Your girlish squeal of delight made ME squeal girlishly in delight! Please review for me and be my friend forever and always until the end of time. OKAY? OKAY!

**ferret assassin nin:** Haven't reviewed at all or often? PLEASE, YOU'RE LIKE ONE OF MY TOP REVIEWERS. everytime i get an alert that someone has reviewed and i see that it's you, I squeal so shrilly dogs howl all around my city. You're DEAD ON (pun intended) with Chick, that's _exactly_ the kinda humor I always saw her having! And may I just say, your reviews make me laugh and 'DAAAAWWWWWE' so loudly, that my own mother thinks I'm nuts. Mainly because when she asks what's up I say "FERRET ASSASSIN NIN" and she thinks I'm speaking in tongues. Love you loooong time!

**heyymelx3:** RYAN WATCH, RYAN WATCH. if you've yet to meet/marry/make sweet children you name after me with him by chapter 20, i'm coming down there and we're finding him together. And I'm gonna make shirts that say "Got Buell?" and we're gonna wear them until we find him. No sleeping or eating allowed. Your review made me smile and grin like a doofus, as they always do, so may I just say I love you, let's be best friends. :D

**akahitoha:** sfhksdhdsiugew I LOVE YOU MORE! new reviewer, i lovelovelove you! and i lovelovelove your name even more. akahitohaaaa, beautiful!

**kcollins720:** THEEEEE most faithful reviewer ever, since chapter one! you're brilliant and beautiful and there aren't enough words in the human dictionary to tell you how much i adore you!

**WinchesterAngel3389**: NEW REVIEWER, NEW PARANORMAL STATER. welcome welcome to the boards! and thank you for that lovely, wonderful review! i'm so glad you can see harlow fitting in! you were the first review of chapter 12, and the first one with a place all nice and snug and warm and wonderful in my heart. you're such a doll, muchmuch love!

**YOU ARE ALL SO BRILLIANT AND WONDERFUL AND LOVELY!**

now! all those thank yous being said! to the 40+ people who have favorited this story, and to the 50+ who have it on story alert! i beg of you, send me a PM or a lovely review or _something_! give me ideas, give me constructive criticism! send me a hello! i would lovelovelove to hear from you!

that is all for now, i do believe .. i must go and get started on the next chapter :D again, thank you from the bottom of my cold black heart for alll your wonderful, amazing, beautiful and STUPENDOUS reviews and support! i love you all so very much i can hardly contain it!

*prances off*

**love;** ellah!


	15. Water Buffalos, Corndogs, Noodle Brains

**Chapter Fourteen**

Water Buffalos, Corndogs and Noodle Brains

**(Harlow)**

"I _hate_ the home court advantage."

Sophie glowered behind us at the bleachers, as hundreds and hundreds of students began filing into the auditorium. Nearly all of them were wearing their New York University sweatshirts and a decent chunk of them had made "NYU" signs. Although I'd told her countless times before how it didn't matter _where_ we were, I **totally** knew the feeling. With a great sigh, I wrapped an arm sympathetically around my dear old Soph.

"It doesn't matter _where_ we are, Kapor," I said confidently, for what had to have been the millionth time since I'd known her. "It's how good we _play_. And as far as I'm concerned, we're **unbeatable**."

"That's the spirit, oh Captain my Captain," Kimmy said cheerfully from my left.

I grinned, giving my best attempt at nonchalant attitude. Truth be told, I was scared _shitless_. This was the first time since I'd joined the volleyball team, nevermind been made Captain, that we'd made it as far as Nationals. This was the first time since I was ten, in fact, that I'd been in New York. And this was the first time - _ever_ - that I'd been about to play in front of five thousand people who were all for me losing.

This was going to be just _fabulous_. Ughhh.

"You think we'll win, Harlow?" Mickenzie asked nervously, peering at the crowds of people making their way into the gym. "The NYU girls look .. _tough_."

I don't know if tough was the word, I thought, looking over at the team opposite us. I was thinking more along the lines of -

"They're fucking _giants_," Jen said, grinning. "What are they _feeding_ those girls?"

"Testosterone would be my first and likely most accurate guess," Emma muttered from the bleachers.

"Is that like a noodle?" Natalie asked Emma with interest.

"Your brain is a fuckin' noodle," mumbled Ainslee, jumping at Lindsey's sharp jab in the ribs. "Ow!"

"Stop it, all of you," I said sternly, shooting them all dirty looks. "The last thing we need before the game is all of you at each other's throats."

Sophie nodded. "I agree. We're gonna play a good, clean, fair game. And you know I mean it because I never say that. Now huddle up."

The girls all laughed appreciatively as they padded towards Soph and I. Looking over my clipboard, I made a few little scratches on it before peering over at Sophie. She quickly read over the changes I'd made, and nodded sharply.

"Alright," I said, and the team fell silent. "Natalie, you're the starting server, alright? Don't hold back, I want you to _rage_ on that ball, got it?"

"What does that even mean?" she asked.

"Hit it hard," Sophie said in exasperation.

"Oh, well why didn't you say that the- "

"Emma, you're our middle blocker," Soph cut in, shooting Nat an irritated glare. "Show 'em who's boss. Meagan, your setting was fantastic during practice, you're on first."

The two girls nodded, jaws set in determination.

"Ainslee, I want you front and center, you're gonna be the opening spiker," I said, running down list. "Kimmy, I want you on first for libero."

"Who's her second?" Jen asked, looking slightly crestfallen.

"You'll have your chance next round, Jen," I said sympathetically. "I didn't forget about you. For now, Sophie'll be her second."

The team smiled, looking much more confident than they did a few seconds ago; they knew anytime Sophie or I played, their chances of winning sky-rocketed. A fact that annoyed Sophie beyond belief.

"Cut the confidence crap," Soph said sharply. "It's not one person who makes a team, you all better haul serious ass today."

"Stretch out," I said, peering over at the ref. "Game starts in five."

As they trudged off to the benches, sipping their water bottles apprehensively as the last seats in the house were filled, I saw Sophie turn and give me a severely irritated glare - well ... more so than her usual looks, anyways.

"He's here," she said boredly, motioning towards the far end of the gymnasium.

"He's .. oh!"

OOOH I THINK I PEED MYSELF!

I looked over to where she'd motioned, and felt my heart skip a couple of beats - _Ryan! _Followed closely by Heather, Katrina, Sergey, Eilfie and a tall, solid lookin' guy I'd never seen before strutting closely beside Ryan, they made their way to the seats on the very edge of the bleachers. Catching his eye from across the gym, I waved cheerfully and he waved back. Even _this_ far away from him, I could tell he was smiling. Oh _sweet_ boy!

"Be right back," I said to Sophie, who was glaring cantankerously across the gym at them.

I jogged as quickly as I could past the ref (who either said 'nice rack' or 'come back' - I'm leaning towards the former) and towards the bleachers, where the entire PRS team (minus the bigger guy) all waved happily.

"Hi!" I said enthusiastically, coming to a stop in front of them.

"'lo, Lo!" Heather said cheerfully.

"Hiya!"

"Hey!"

"How are you?" Ryan asked seriously, clearly sensing the tension I'd tried so desperately to hide. Damn, he's _good_.

"Alright," I lied. "Well, no. Scared completely shitless. But that's to be expected, I guess, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, but smiled warmly. "You'll do great, Lo. You always do."

I flushed, but smiled in embarrassment. "Just don't make fun of me too bad if we get slaughtered .. "

"Did you notice that the entire NYU team look like water buffalos?" Heather asked brightly, as several people around looked mutinously at her.

"Er .. no, hadn't really noticed," I lied, trying unsuccessfully to hide the laugh that bubbled from my throat.

"I wanted to bring a sign that said 'DEATH TO THE NYU WATER BISONS' but Katrina wouldn't let me," Heather sighed woefully.

"My apologies Heather," said Katrina, rolling her eyes. "I just figured you versus five million angry University students wouldn't fly too well."

"I could take 'em," Heather muttered.

"Harlow, this is Chad," Ryan said, casting a dark look at Kat and Heather and motioning to the bigger, bearded guy to his right. "Chad Calek, another paranormal investigator we work closely with."

"It's nice to meet you," I said politely, smiling at the big friendly face in front of me and extending my hand.

"Likewise," he said, shaking it gingerly in his large, frickin' _paw_ of a hand. "I've heard a lot of great things about you from the ol' Buell-meister over here."

Ryan blushed furiously, laughing awkwardly. I couldn't help but grin at that handsome, tanned face in front of me.

"As long as they're great, I've got no real problem," I said happily.

"Are you playing in the first round?" Eilfie asked.

I shook my head. "No, I might be in the second half but it depends on how we're doing. I've kept the better players on the bench this quarter, before I make an official gameplan I've gotta get a feel for the NYU girls."

"Don't get too close, Harlow, they make look cute and furry but those hooves are _hard_," Heather said warningly.

The rest of the crew exchanged mortified expressions, and Katrina swatted Heather lightly on the side of her head - I couldn't help laughing, regardless of the dark looks I was getting from people seated all around them.

"So when do your seminars start?" I asked casually, trying to ease the tension between those adorable little Ghost Busters.

"Four o'clock," Ryan replied, taking a peek at his watch. "It's in the Wellington Plaza ballroom, right down on Fifth."

"I'll be there," I said cheerfully. "I've been looking forward to going since you told me."

"I'm stoked you're coming," he said earnestly. "Chad and Sergey are going to be doing a special Tech service, and I'll be talking at Chip's seminar - "

"Chippy's gonna be there?" I asked excitedly.

Ryan smiled and nodded. "Yeah, he flew down from Raleigh especially."

"That's fantastic," I said, feeling happier than I had in hours. "I'm so excited - I think Sophie's gonna come along too, maybe Kimmy as well."

"I didn't think Soph liked this kind of .. _stuff_," Ryan said, a little apprehensively.

I smiled. "She'll come if I tell her to."

"Non-believer?" Chad asked.

I pondered this, and shrugged. "I don't know, actually ... never really cared to ask. I think it freaks her out more than anything."

"Understandable," Chad said benignly. "Majority of people who don't believe in the paranormal are simply afraid of it."

"Majority of people who _do_ believe are afraid of it too," I said darkly, but the sharp trill of the ref's whistle caught my attention. "I'm sorry, I gotta run - thank you guys _so_ much for coming, any support we get is ridiculously appreciated - and it was nice meeting you," I said, inclining my head towards Chad.

"You too," he said cheerfully, as I turned and began jogging back to my side of the gym.

"I'm going to cheerlead for you!" I heard Heather shout from behind me.

"No she **won't**!" Katrina called back even louder.

"Shut _up_, you two - good luck, Harlow!" yelled Ryan.

Oh, that swoon-worthy son-of-a-bitch! His voice was simply **perfection**.

Y'know .. I'd never tell him this, because my appreciation of him even _coming_ to the game when I'm sure he was swamped with meetings was more than he could even imagine, but the thought of having to play and keep concentration in _front_ of** him** was worse than the thought of being booed by five thousand students in every direction. How was I supposed to be on the top of my game when all I could focus on was when the next time I got to make out with him would be?

I slowed down to a steady pace, noticing the apprehensive looks on my team's faces (except for Kimmy and Lindsey, who both looked their normal cheerful selves). I padded over next to Sophie, who was standing a fair distance away from the rest of the girls.

"Why're you all red?" Sophie asked me coldly, peering over my shoulder at my small crowd of supporters opposite us.

"I'm not," I lied, ignoring her and looking over at the team.

A couple of them were following Sophie's gaze and looking slyly at Ryan and company. Most of the others were ashen faced and terrified looking. Poor little Jess looked ready to vomit.

"Chill out, you guys," I said, way more enthusiastically than I meant. "It's the Penn State Nittany Lions against _those_ water buffalos. We've _so_ got this - just remember your training, we're gonna get through this together!"

And as the two teams hustled onto the court, the NYU crowd cheering louder than I'd ever heard any crowd cheer before, I couldn't help the grin that slid over my face as Heather's voice carried over nearly a hundred feet to my side of the gym -

"_PENN STATE, PENN STATE, WEEEEEE'RE THE ONESSSS, UNLIKE NYU WE'RE FULL OF ... ESTROGENNNN, GO PENN STATE, GO PENN STATE, GO, GO, GO PENN STATE!"_

**(Katrina)**

"You know, personally I've always been more of a football fan - but I gotta say, that was _sick_."

Chad stretched his legs out in front of him, as we inched down Twenty-Third street in gridlock I'd never seen the likes of before now - my _God_, how do you New Yorkers do it?

We'd left the game about half an hour ago, the only ones in the entire auditorium in a good mood - in less than 45 minutes, Harlow and her team had _destroyed_ the NYU girls, 25 to 4. Harlow had sat perched comfortably and benignly on the bench with the rest of her team, a humble albeit slightly smug look on that angelic face. She hadn't even played, there had been no need. She had only switched two people on the court the second half, and that was only because they'd been badgering her to get out their and do some damage of their own. Sophie, the tall blonde one, who I assumed was her best friend, took a seat, as did a red-headed, dim faced girl - a lanky brown girl and tall dark-skinned girl had taken their places eagerly.

Even _with_ the home court advantage, the NYU team had been demolished - I'd almost felt bad for them. _Almost_. The New York University team seemed to have chosen their players based on size and strength alone - athleticism, it seemed, was not on the top of their priority list. Unfortunately for those lovely, er .. _ladies_, in volleyball, size didn't matter. Not one little bit. It was **all** talent, **all **skill - **all** about the coaching. And it was blatantly obvious - and I would've said this even if I _hadn't_ known Harlow - that the Penn State team had girls that fit all of that criteria, and so much more.

"Ever since I watched their first match, I've been hooked," Ryan agreed, drumming his fingers in irritation against the steering wheel - we'd barely moved a foot in a minute. "I never realized the amount of skill you needed to be a volleyball player."

"Yeah, I'm sure that it was the **sport** that got you hooked, Ry," Chad said, big grin stretched across his face.

"He means it was Harlow," Heather added helpfully, albeit a little hoarsely - she'd been cheering and screaming so loud, trying to be heard over the NYU crowd, that she'd almost completely lost her voice.

... which, to be completely honest, none of us were _too_ upset about.

"Got that, Tad, thanks," Ryan mumbled.

"You've really outdone yourself this time," Chad said appreciatively, pulling a cigarette out of his coat pocket. "I mean, seriously man - that girl is _ridiculous_. You know me, I'm a happily married man, but ... Christ. Good choice."

Ryan smiled guiltily, but nodded. "She's _somethin'_."

"Better than that last girl you dated," said Chad thickly, taking a long drag off his smoke. "Kate, Cathy? Katie?"

"Horseface," Heather squeaked.

Chad choked, smoke streaming out of his nose and eyes watering.

"Katie," Ryan said, rather defensively. "_Not_ horseface, thanks."

"Don't deny it," I sighed, peering out the window. "You know she was a horseface, Ryan."

"I bet she would've eaten alfalfa out of my hand if I'd let her," Heather said, in her cheerfully hoarse voice.

"Regardless," Chad wheezed, thumping his chest from laughing so hard. "I knew from what everyone was saying she'd be a piece of work - but God _damn_, man - I'm _impressed_. How'd you nab something like that? Clearly, Buell's got **mooooves **I definitely didn't know about."

"Not really," Heather croaked. "More like Harlow overlooked his 'moves' and decided to give him a chance."

"Oh joy, she's getting her voice back," I mumbled.

Heather flung her arms joyfully around my neck, nuzzling her nose against my cheek.

"When I get it back, I'm going to serenade you all night and lull you to sleep with my angel's voice," Heather gurgled cheerfully.

"Speaking of lulling to sleep!" I said brightly, shoving Heather away and peering over Chad's shoulder at Ryan. "If Harlow's too busy tonight, Ryan, I know _exactly_ who could fill that cold, lonely spot in your bed!"

"Don't even," he muttered, closing his eyes in irritation.

"Who?" Chad asked curiously.

"Denise Howell," I said happily.

"Who's that?" Chad asked.

"Only if Bri Tanner doesn't beat her to it," Heather argued croakily.

"Bri who?"

"Kyra Jones wants in, too," I reminded Heather.

Chad looked perplexed between the two of us - Ryan banged his head against the steering wheel. "Don't ask, Chad."

"I just did," he replied, looking almost _greedily_ at Tad and I. "Who's Denise How-whatever, or Bri Tan-something, or K-something Jones? I _hate_ being out of the loop!"

"They're members of the LGLBC," I said, grinning - Ryan moaned.

"What's the LBLGC?"

"_The Lonely Girls Love Buell Club,_" said Heather, eyes shining. "It's Ryan's little PRS Fan Club."

"They spend every class staring at Ryan's crotch and doodling their's and his names in little hearts all over their binders," I informed Chad.

"And if they're not doing that, I expect they're formulating ways to date rape him at the open house and have their kinky little way with him," said Heather cheerfully.

Chad looked as excited as a kid at Christmas as he roared with laughter, patting Ryan heartily on the back. Ahh, I knew if there was anyone in the world who'd appreciate the Fan Club as much as Tads and I, it'd be dear Mr. Calek.

"My man!" Chad cried, eyes alight with excitement. "What a player! Your very own fan club!"

"I can't even believe they're here," he sighed, looking miserably at the road ahead of him. "It's not a PRS event, it's for A&E - why would they show up?"

"Every chance they miss to cock-watch is an opportunity wasted," shrugged Heather, lounging back comfortably in her seat. "Stay away from any bars tonight, Ryan - or if you _do_ go, you keep your cup with you at **all** times."

"Imagine wanting to get in someone's pants _so_ bad you stalk them to New York City for a seminar they're hosting?" I said thoughtfully. "Come on, Ryan - clearly Harlow's a better catch, but would she travel long distance just to be able to stare at your ass for an hour and a half? They _obviously_ really like you. Maybe you should give them a chance!"

"They wanna get married and chase baby Buell's all over the house," squawked Taddy. "They _craaaaaave_ your director's log."

"Ugh, shut up, shut _up_," Ryan mumbled, barely audible over mine and Chad's cries of laughter. "What if they try and hit on me all night? What if they abduct me and drag me kicking and screaming back to their hotel room? I've given them a million hints to lay off ... they won't leave me alone!"

"Awe c'mon - look on the bright side, man," Chad said, wiping a tear away from his crinkled eye. "They won't try _shit_ - Harlow's here. They're not dumb enough to make a move when your _girlfriend_ is **right** there."

"You don't know them," Ryan said, shaking his head sadly. "They're relentless."

"Relentless? I was thinking more psycho bitches," Heather said huskily.

"Either or, really," Ryan said. "They flew all the way to New York to stare at me - what if tonight's the night they try something? What if they find out Harlow's here, and they try and .. hurt her, or something? Or threaten her?"

I felt a little pang of guilt for making fun of ol' Buelly, so I reached over and pet his shoulder comfortingly (well, as much as I could .. I was still fighting back laughter about the intense popularity of Ryan's director's log). I could understand his concern, I suppose. Ever since Paranormal State started airing, Ryan had been mobbed by hundreds of girls on campus. Left and right, girls flinging themselves at him, sending him gifts, giving him googley eyes out in the hallways. But Bri, Denise and Kyra - the three Psycho-teers, as we called them - were the worst. Relentless really _was_ the only word for them.

I figure if they got their chance, they'd pull a Cathy Bates in _Misery _on Ryan and keep him forever and ever. If they found out he had a girlfriend, no less someone as easy as a target as the tiny little Harlow, they'd have a bitchfit. Harlow was tough enough, but three psychotic nutjobs jumping you at every corner wasn't exactly a dream situation for anyone. I rubbed Ryan's arm sympathetically.

"Don't worry, Boss-o," I said sincerely. "They're relentless and they're nutjobs, but they're not gonna do anything. Not when Harlow's here backed up by her entire University league volleyball team. Denise, Bri and Kyra are just a minor inconvenience, they can't hurt her."

"I guess so," he said glumly.

"And even _if _they freak out because you've got yourself a little girlfriend," I said thoughtfully. "And decide they hate her and want you to break up with her. They'll either tell you off, which, not to toot your own horn or whatever, but I'm pretty sure you could take three pint-size - "

"Fat assed," Heather added.

" - little freaks," I reasoned, ignoring Tad. "And if they decide to go for the 'easier' target, Harlow - come on, dude. Honestly - would **you** fuck with Sophie?"

"That's true," Ryan said, looking a little less gloomy. "I just don't want Harlow to be weirded out by them or anything .. "

"I don't think she'll be weirded out," I said rather casually, leaning back in my seat. "I mean, really - it's not like Harlow would let them get away with flirting with you."

"Why do you say that?" he asked, peering at me in the mirror.

"Well it's obvious, isn't it?" I said blandly. "She couldn't take her eyes off you the _whole_ game."

It was tremendous satisfaction when I saw the now all too common crimson erupt on his cheeks, and the slightly goofy smile spread over his face.

_Damn_, I was good.

**(Lindsey)**

"Come _on_ Sophie, it's not gonna be bad."

"I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't **want** to!"

"You're - the - biggest - _ow! - _whiner - I've - ever - **met!**" Kimmy panted.

Kimmy, Harlow and I, who each outweighed Sophie by a solid five to fifteen pounds, were struggling to push her into the Hotel's lobby, garnering strange looks and rude whispers from passersby. Sophie'd flung herself against the wall of the building, clinging desperately to the tough stone archway in front of her, shaking her head furiously as we attempted to drag her away from the wall.

She could be _such_ a drama queen.

"You said we were getting _food_ and then _sight-seeing_," she grumbled. "_Not_ coming to some weirdo convention!"

"It's _not_ a weirdo convention," Harlow said rather defensively, yanking at Soph's waist. "It'll be _interesting_ Sophie. Come on, let's _go!"_

She gave her jacket a great tug, and Sophie toppled from the wall and onto Harlow, both of them landing with a soft _Thud_ on the ground. Kimmy and I roared with laughter, as we helped the blustering, furious Sophie up, and Harlow climbed gracefully to her feet a moment later, smiling broadly and dusting the dirt off pants.

"I _always_ do what you want me to do," she said, wrapping her arms around Soph's neck lovingly. "I go with you to your parent's stupid Country Club dinners. I drop all of my homework assignments to help you pick out _earrings_. I come over and cook and clean for you all the time, even if I don't feel like it. Do this one thing - this _one_ thing - for me!"

"I hate you. For the rest of my life, I hate you."

"That's the spirit!" I said cheerfully, grabbing her hand in mine. "C'mon, I wanna get a Ghostbusters shirt!"

Kimmy squealed merrily, grabbing her other hand. "Yes! I want my own paranormal investigator's kit! If you're a good girl, Soph, I might even buy _you_ your **own!**"

"I could buy this entire hotel and everything in it twenty times over," Sophie said acidly, attempting without much success to pry herself away from our grip - no luck, bitch!

"Cool, then buy **me** a kit, whydontcha?" I asked.

"It's like we're asking you to pull teeth," Harlow muttered from behind us, pushing at Sophie's back forcefully. "My God, woman. Just do me this _one_ favor."

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so much."

"That's all well and good but we're gonna be _late_, let's go!"

With an almighty lurch, we dragged Sophie into the hotel lobby and over to the golden doors of the elevator. The one good thing about having a slightly psychotic friend in a busy hotel is that not only does no one want to approach you, but they also don't want to catch an elevator with you. The elevator was completely empty, as guests and staff walked past and peered in hesitantly. Man, it's like we were celebrities, or VIP's! Well ... y'know, except VIP's aren't usually dragging tall blonde girls by the hair into elevators.

Meh. Y'take what you can get.

After our game - which may I just say, we _killed_ - Harlow'd asked Kimmy and I if we'd like to come with her to this little ol' ghost convention. Naturally, we said yes. Not only because we both _totally_ dug hangin' out with our gorgie Coach, but also because;

a), we _were_ kinda interested in the whole paranormal mumbo jumbo,

b), the rest of the girls were going to drink themselves stupid at some popular NY club, and that wasn't exactly our style,

and c), we planned on taking as many opportunities as we could to check out this new sexy boy toy of Harly Bear's.

Sophie had point-blankly refused to join us on our Ghost expedition. So, being the simply _fabulous_ liars that we were, we convinced her that we'd decided to bail out on the convention and grab a slice of pizza before heading on down to the Statue of Liberty. And, as I'm sure you can see, she didn't exactly take it well when we showd up here instead. _Oooopsy daisy!_

"I _hate_ this ghost shit, you _know_ I do, I don't wanna _goooooo_!"

"And I hate hanging out with all your Mum's drunk friends who try and set me up with their socially incompetent accountant sons," Harlow argued. "But I do it because I _love _you."

"Fine, no more Country Club banquets," Sophie pleaded. "Just let me get the fuck off this _elevator_!"

"Never," Harlow said, ass-bumping her into the wall.

Sophie fought valiantly against Harlow, but she was no match: she had her pinned in the corner of the elevator. Soph scrambled desperately against her, trying to pry off her hands and tackle her out of the way.

"Fourteenth floor," Lo panted, hip-checking Sophie roughly back into her corner.

"Right-o," Kimmy said jovially.

With a snap, the doors closed and the elevator began to rise. Sophie moaned, running to the closed doors and banging against them - her last chance of escape (besides a window), and we'd foiled it. WAHAHAHA, WE WIN!

"Why did I come? Why? What could've possibly possessed me to come with you assholes?"

"If something possessed you, Soph, then thank **God** we're going to a Paranormal Convention!" I said cheerfully.

She shot me what was equally the most terrifying and dirtiest look a person could ever have given. Yikes. What a sourpuss.

"Just behave yourself," Harlow muttered, watching the floors tick by. "Just shut up, sit still and look pretty."

"What if I don't want to?" Sophie snarled.

"By all means, kick and scream and shout," Kimmy said simply, picking at her nails idly. "I'm sure that's the first thing you want to do at a Paranormal Convention. Draw attention to yourself. Perfect. We'll allow it."

She grimaced furiously, and I saw a small smile flicker on Harlow's face: she and Sophie may be best friends, but she _knew_ she'd be nothing in this world without Kimmy and I.

The doors to the elevator dinged open, and - arms linked tightly with Sophie's - we stepped out onto the floor. There was a large foyer, with two separate hallways. The hallway to the left looked about a million miles long, lined with doorways, and painted a bright peachy color. The other one was shorter, brighter, and housed only two large oak doors at the very end, and windows all along the east wall. A sign next to the entrance read '_A&E Paranormal State / Psychic Kids Seminars - Guests Welcome' _

"Oh good, we made it!" Kimmy said happily.

"Oh _fucking_ joy," Sophie muttered darkly, with a desperate glance at the windows opposite us - she was _so_ not jumping out a window, not on _my_ watch.

"**Smile**, Kapor!" I said, dragging her towards the bustling room ahead of us. "It's gonna be _so_ much fun!"

"You coming, Harlow?" Kimmy called behind us.

I peered around, and saw Lo's face slightly pale and questioning - she was gazing down the opposite hallway, a perplexed look on her face. You know when someone who speaks barely a lick of English starts randomly asking you questions in a grocery store, and you stare at them and look politely confused? That was the _exact_ expression on Harlow's face. Confused, constricted - unsure.

"Mm - sorry? Oh, yeah .. comin', sorry," she muttered in embarrassment. "Day dreamin'."

Her face snapped back to it's usual benign beauty, and she loped gracefully behind us as we made our way into the boardroom.

It was bigger than I'd expected it to be, that was for sure; about a quarter the size of a football field, with what had to have been nearly two hundred people pacing around. There were information booths, merchandise stands and food and drink vendors all around the floor, crowded against the walls, huddled in the middle, set spontaneously in little clusters all about. People were milling back and forth between the sixty plus stands, conversing happily and reading through little black pamphlets. Against the far wall, the one opposite of us, there were two doors, both propped open with little signs. I assumed that's where Harlow's boytoy was doing his presentation.

"See Sophie, there's food here!" I said, pointing at the many food stands a couple yards away. "You can get a good ol' fashioned New York .. uh, corndog?"

"Hate you, just despise you," she was still muttering from beside me.

"Ooh, look Lo! You want me to buy you that shirt?" Kimmy asked casually, pointing at a t-shirt booth a couple stands down.

Ryan Buell's face looked quite chipperly back at us, underneath the words 'Paranormal State' in some weird, albeit kinda cool font. Harlow blushed furiously, smiling.

"I think I'll be alright," she said, running a hand nervously through her hair. "Maybe you should buy Soph one, I'm sure she'd love it - isn't that right, Sophie?"

With what had to have been **THE** most murderous glare I'd ever seen, Sophie growled at Harlow. "I shit on that shirt."

"Grumpy gills," Lo sighed, nodding over to the lemonade stand a ways ahead of us. "Too bad they don't have a bar, Grouchy could've used a Bourbon."

"C'mon Lo, let's look around," I said, with sincere interest - there were tables upon tables I was _dying_ to check out. "We've got another fifteen minutes before the seminars start, it's only 3:45."

"I do want a seat though," Harlow said worriedly, as the four of us made our way down the great hall. "I don't know if it's gonna fill up quick or not, I'd hate to miss out ... "

"Sincerely doubt it," Sophie said angrily.

"Grump," Kimmy said, rolling her eyes. "Alright, let's go save a spot, then we can look around before his lecture starts."

"But I won't have enough time to buy holy water!" I pouted.

"I'm sure the stands will still be open after the presentation," Kim said consolingly.

"Brilliant!"

We passed booth upon booth of Paranormal State paraphernalia. Shirts, DVD's, hats, sweaters, coffee mugs - everything with either the PS logo or Ryan's face. I kept stealing quick little glances at Harlow, who was looking rather awkwardly but with a slight grin at all the merchandise stands we passed.

"You sure you don't want a Ryan mug?" I asked her, halfway towards the doors opposite.

"Quite," she assured me, a slight twinkle in her eyes.

"Why buy the mug when you get the whole package, right?" Kimmy said cheerily.

She blushed furiously, sending Kim and I into raucous squeals of laughter - Sophie looked around frantically. Either for an escape route, to check if she knew anyone, or for something sharp so she could kill herself right there.

Ahh, she's such a pooper.

"Harlow?"

At the sound of her name, the three of us (excluding Sophie, who was keeping her head as low as it could possibly go) turned around, looking for the light voice that had just uttered her name. It came from a small girl, probably even shorter than Kimmy (who at 5'3, was a borderline midget herself), with long red hair, twinkly blue eyes, and a pale, freckled and friendly face.

"Harlow, it's me - Alina!"

Harlow's eyes widened in shock, and a brilliant smile broke across her face. "Leeney, my God!"

The two girls embraced, laughing and shrieking happily. Kimmy and I stood rather awkwardly, Sophie propped up furiously between the two of us. Harlow and the girl, Alina, broke apart, smiles still huge and eyes both watery.

"It's been _so_ long," Harlow breathed, looking her over ecstatically. "How _are_ you!"

"Brilliant," Alina responded, simply breathless. "Absolutely wonderful. How've you been?"

"Great, really good," Harlow responded. "Alina, these are my friends - Kimmy, Sophie and Lindsey. You guys, this is a really old friend of mine, Alina."

"How do you do?" Kimmy said brightly.

"Nice to meet ya," I said, with a wave.

"Get me the _fuck_ out of here," Sophie muttered, casting dark looks over her shoulder.

"Oh _honestly_, you miserable old bat," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Excuse us," Kimmy said apologetically. "We gotta grab seats."

"Sure, great to meet you," Alina said politely, with a slightly anxious glance at Sophie - ah poor girl, the snarling Soph would've scared anyone shitless, truth be told.

"Meet you in there," I said to Harlow, who nodded, casting Sophie a furious glance.

Half dragging her with us, we both gave Sophie hard jabs in the side, and a swat on the side of the head for good measure.

"**Stop** being such an asshole," Kimmy said angrily, giving Sophie's arm a tug.

"You're being so _rude_," I tutted, as we passed through the doors.

"I'm rude? _Me_? **You're** the ones who abducted me and brought me to this freak show," Sophie said furiously.

"Shut your mouth and sit down," I said, as she plopped into one of the folding chairs near the back.

She did as she was told, although rather grudgingly.

Up at the front of the room, twenty rows of seats up from us, Ryan was deep in conversation with a bespectacled, grey haired man. The man had a rather doughy face, but a happy one, and a thick, woven scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Chip Coffey and Ryan Buell," Kimmy said, peering at the program on her seat.

"You know, I don't care what people say," I said, draping my coat over the chair next to the muttering, completely balls crazy Sophie. "I think Harlow's got _pretty_ good taste in men."

Kimmy nodded, face bright as she peered over at Ryan thoughtfully.

"I'd let him investigate me _anytime_."

**(Alina)**

"It's been what .. nine years?"

"Almost a decade, that's for sure!"

We both laughed, but I couldn't help the monster of jealousy roaring in my stomach. I'd met Harlow in Foster Care when we were both 15 years old - back then, she'd been a pretty girl. Awkward, slightly gangly, but pretty. Hair a little too long and scraggly, skin a little spotted - eyes too big for her head. But now?

I don't think the word 'beautiful' would even have done her justice.

Just about all the men in the room who walked past us did double - even _triple_ takes as they made their way down through the crowded throngs of people. Even people behind the booths were gawking at her. She was **stunning**. Like she'd just walked off the cover of a magazine. Immaculate, perfect - _unreal_. A girl a few feet away from us, with a rather toad like face, looked wistfully, almost _angrily_ at her. I could feel her pain. Harlow, it seemed, took no notice of her room-wide Fan Club.

"You look _amazing_, Harlow," I said, rather awestruck.

"Ah, please. _You're_ the one who's simply gorgeous," she said, with such sweet sincerity it surprised me. "What brings you all the way to New York?"

Forcing myself to look away from her radiant face for one second, I motioned to the main information booth a couple of feet away from us.

"I work for A&E," I said, rather proudly. "Got booked as a production assistant a couple years back - it's wild, really crazy. Total fluke."

"Oh I doubt that," she said, giving me a playful pat on my arm. "You were always brilliant, Leeney - I sincerely doubt there was _any_ kind of fluke!"

I grinned. "Oh hush, you flatter. What've you been doing?"

"School," she said, rather glumly. "Fourth year in Psychology."

"No way! You study here in New York?"

She shook her head, mane of long, chestnut brown hair shimmering in the light. "Naw, I study at Penn State. I was down here for a big volleyball game - the girls in there, Kimmy and Soph and Linds, they're some of my best friends as well as team mates."

"What brings you to the Paranormal State convention, then?" I asked, with a slight smile. "Besides the obvious, I presume."

She smiled a little awkwardly, but nodded towards the large doors her friends had just disappeared through. "I'm uh .. a _friend_ of Ryan's, actually. We were both down here at the same time, he came to my game, I came to his conference."

"Really?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "I figured you were here for _other_ reasons, actually."

The slightly toad-faced girl standing a couple feet away from us peered over her shoulder, looking crossly at the two of us - she made me a little uncomfortable, truth be told. She'd been gawking at Harlow since we'd started talking three minutes ago. What a creep.

Harlow shook her head. "No, I uh .. I don't really _practice_ that old, odd little talent anymore, to be honest."

"You were amazing at it," I said, almost sadly. "It's kind of .. well, no offense, but it's a waste of a Psychic talent, Lo."

Harlow jumped a little as the toad-faced girl behind her dropped a porcelain mug from her hands. Face red with embarrassment, she bent over and began to pick up the pieces, mortified. The uncomfortable knot in my stomach tightened - there was something odd about that girl .. it was like she was eavesdropping in on our conversation.

"It's behind me," she said softly, ignoring Toady behind her. "It's never really done me any favors, y'know? Some things you grow out of, or grow _in_ to. I just don't .. I don't really want people knowing about it. You found out, but in the years since then you've been the only one I ever told."

I nodded. "Fair enough ... you've never considered following up with it, though? You could've made a lot of money, Harlow. You could've had **your** own television show."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I spent too much of my life feeling like a freak and an outcast. The last thing I want is to be on a billboard with 'Ghost Whisperer' next to my head. If it got out around school, I don't know what I'd do ... I mean, it was never about the money ... there's other ways to make cash."

I nodded in agreement, knowing fully well that if she'd wanted to, Harlow could easily get into _any_ business of her choosing. With a face like that? She'd have been worth **millions**.

"So does your, uh - _friend_, Ryan. Does he know about it?" I asked.

She nodded, biting her lip anxiously. "Yeah ... I didn't plan on telling him, but by an odd sequence of events, it kind of came out into the open. Luckily he's absolutely _amazing_, and he's been good about keeping it on the down low."

"I've met him a couple times," I said thoughtfully, looking at a shirt with his face plastered on the front. "He seems great. Quiet, but very sweet."

"The sweetest," she said, eyes twinkling. "I adore him."

I grinned. "And does he adore _you_, if you catch my drift?"

She smiled cheekily, giving her shoulders a non-committal shrug. "Something you'd have to ask him, I guess."

Which _totally_ meant they were together! Hot damn.

"It's great you found someone like him," I said, making my own blatant assumptions from her vague answers. "Someone that understands the Paranormal - someone that can really appreciate the gift you have."

She smiled rather awkwardly, but nodded. "It is .. he's the only one in all of Penn State that knows. And I just ... well, it's nice to know I can trust someone, you know?"

"Absolutely," I agreed, taking a peek at my watch. "His seminar should be starting any minute now, as a matter of fact."

"I gotta run, then," she said, looking hurriedly at the clock above the stands. "Alina - really - it was just so fantastic seeing you again."

"I've missed you," I agreed, rather sadly. "Look - take one of my cards. Call me anytime you're in the city, or drop me a text, e-mail - whatever."

I handed her one of my business cards from my back pocket, and she took it gingerly in her long fingers. She popped it neatly into the front pocket of her jeans, and grinned broadly before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.

"I will, I promise," she said softly, as I squeezed her back - the wonderful scent of coconuts made my brain hazy with happiness.

"It's been great, Lo," I said, as she pulled away from me, hitching her bag further up her arm.

She nodded, and made to walk to the door. For a moment, she looked hesitant, eyes focused on the room ahead of her, but body frozen very still in the spot. With a bit of hesitation, she looked back at me, curiously, uncertainly.

"Hey Leen," she said quietly, mossy green eyes tentative. "You ever think of that place? Foster Care?"

"Every day," I said softly.

"Me too." She shook her head. "Ah well," she said rather jauntily, and she drifted away into the mass of people before me.

I watched her disappear from view, like I'd watched her disappear into the caseworker's dark car nearly a decade ago. But this time, I couldn't help the small smile that crept onto my face. That place, Foster Care. It was impossible not to think of, not once you'd been in it. Seen what it did, the irreparable damage it caused.

It ruined people. It ruined lives. It killed. Killed your instinct to survive, killed dreams, killed hope. It took everything that made you human, everything that made you a child, everything that gave you happiness - it took that, and so much more. It stripped you of all that made you tick. The lasting damage it inflicted onto so many thousand children every day of every year - it was almost impossible to forget. To recover from.

But sometimes - _very rarely_ - a person came out of it for the better. One in a million, that had to have been the odds. Once in a blue moon, a person would escape from the hell that was their childhood. That **was** Foster Care. They would rise from the ashes of their ruined lives, like a phoenix after Burning Day. They'd escape. They'd be reborn. They'd stand above. They'd learn how to hope again. How to dream. How to find the will to live. And they became people like her - like me.

People with a chance.

With a start, I realized the toad-faced girl was still a couple feet away from me. Her beady glare was fixed on me - but there was a smugness to her face that I hadn't seen when I'd peeked at her before. There was a thrill to it, a pale shock of happiness that had replaced the fury before.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked rather harshly, peering down at the nametag stuck on her linty sweater. "Uh, Denise, is it?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes glittering rather malevolently.

"Oh no, I'll be fine," she said, her voice much softer than I'd have imagined. "Thanks, though. Thanks _a lot_."

And she walked away, leaving me standing in the bustling room with a rather terrible knot in the pit of my stomach.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hello hello, beautiful people of the Fan Fiction community! I'm back, and ta-da! ANOTHER CHAPTER THAT TOOK ME LESS THAN 8 YEARS! I know it's a fairly pathetic accomplishment, but it's one I'm proud of :D

NOW, I must get to my many thank-you's!

**Kakashis-girl90: **trust me, if people think you're losing your mind when you read a new chapter, you should see ME when i read your reviews, i DOOO lose my mind. and it's almost always at an unfortunate time when i do receive them. i'm usually in the middle of the produce section. or in a library. or on a bus. and then every around me thinks i'm nuts ... regardless, you're amazing and i adore you to no end!

**WinchesterAngel3389: **oooh, pretty good idea who the green belongs to, do you! i'm impressed, you're even remembering the little details in the story! just for you, i shall bust serious balls in getting the next chapter out as soon as i possibly can! you're a doll, let's hold hands (L)

**TemptationIsBliss:** you love my story? i love YOU! i very much agree, although i don't know the dear little Buelly personally, i imagine whenever he's in a relationship, he's very much a lovey dovey cutie pie. i'm glad someone else sees it! thank you for the review, you're fantastic!

**kcollins720: **oooh curious about the dream, are you! there will be more questions before answers, i'm afraid - but the dream is veryveryvery important! thanks, as always, for your review! you always make me smile :D

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction:** oooh my lovely lady, you're hothothot - in personal appearance (i'm sure) and about your little 'dream' hunch, i'm mightymighty impressed! your review was a cool wind on a hot summer's day, refreshing and amazing! love you long long time!

**loveyoualways21:** new reviewer! thank you thank you! i was addicted to you from the first letter of your review! you're wonderful, don't ever change :D and i love YOU always ... er, 21. :D

**akahitoha: **my love for YOU is unhealthy my dear sweet akahitoha! you're fantatbulous and i hope we'll be friends forever and ever and ever (L)

**heyymelx3: **YES, HELLO BFF. like, if you wanted a ryan hunting buddy, why didn't you say so? be there asap! i'll be the one standing at the airport with "ellah searching for heyymelx3" on a little cardboard sign - watch for me! dude, me and you and story ryan are all in the same dopey, lovestruck boat :( whatta feeling. blah. let's go get starbucks and pretend like we're not lovey dopes. love you and thanks for the review you beautiful god of heyymellishness!

**RoselynnNoelle: **i have absolutely said it once, and i will say it a million more times on top of mountain tops and from planes and from trains and everywhere! you made my week with your lovely review and pm, and i'm hoping you will accept my request to be my soul sister for life. you are simply the greatest, love forever and ever! thank you :)

**silentC:** my favorite little couple coining beauty! i find the plotting out thing wayyyy easier, otherwise i forget half the stuff i wanna write! i'll be halfway through a chapter and have to randomly add in like "OH BTW SHE LIKES PUZZLES" or something stupid, bahaha. you're fantastic, thank you so much for the review!

you all make my life, i adore you to pieces! again, for all that read and don't review, i urge you to! it's hard to explain how truly wonderful a review from an anonymous person 30752057023 miles away makes you feel, but 'chocolate' is the closest word i can think of.

for now, i must scamper off and continue my writing! *pushes glasses up nose*

everyone, anyone, feel free to PM me anytime with questions, comments, concerns, harassments or just to chat, because i'm so friendly i'm borderline creep (well no, not really ... alright, maybe a little).

much love! *rolls away*

**love;** ellah!


	16. Come Rain, Come Shine, Come Pigeon Shit

**Chapter Fifteen**

Come Rain, Come Shine, Come Pigeon Shit

**(Kimmy)**

"Come on Sophie, you gotta admit - that was a _pretty_ good seminar."

Ugh. Again with the scathing looks. You think I'd just announced I thought the second World War happened under justifiable terms or somethin' - jeeze louise.

"You don't have to say anything," Lindsey reassured her. "The dazzling look of wonder in your eyes says it all."

"Tame it with the looks, already," Harlow said irritably. "Your face is going to be stuck in a permanent scowl if you're not careful."

"After the day I just had? Not even surprised," Sophie muttered furiously.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Harlow sighed.

"Debatable."

We plowed through the crowds, making our way to a quiet, more secluded spot in the banquet hall. People were filing out of the seminar room, looks of intrigue and thoughtfulness on all their faces. Ryan and Chip had not yet surfaced from their mob of enlightened fans and admirers, so we'd decided to leave them be and come take a seat over yonder in the great hall of ghosty merchandise.

In all fairness, no matter **what **Sophie refused to acknowledge, the seminar was _preeeeetty_ fantastic. Ryan was a natural when it came to public speaking, and the other guy - Chip, I think - was such a bubbly, over-enthusiastic little gremlin that you couldn't help paying attention when he spoke. They'd talked to the crowded room of over two hundred people without even breakin' a sweat - I was impressed. Not even gonna lie.

And of course, of _course_, the obvious couldn't be denied - even though we bugged and teased her all the time about him, Harlow'd made a pretty good choice. Ryan was cah-ah-yewwwwwwt! I'd never noticed it before, I think the whole 'he wears nightvision goggles in basements' kinda deterred me, like many other people, at first. But when you really looked at him, he wasn't a bad lookin' guy. Nice dimples. Bright eyes. Cute bum.

Oh YES. Cute bum!

Kinda upset me that I didn't call dibs on him first, to be honest.

"I'll definitely be watching the show from now on," Lindsey said earnestly, taking a sip from her glass of lemonade.

I nodded. "Man, absolutely - don't be mad or whatever, Harley, but besides watching for the cool evidence and stuff, I'm _totally_ checking it out just so I can stare at Ryan's bum for half an hour."

"If I said that's not the reason I watched it too, I'd be lying," Harlow said, with a devilish little grin.

"Are you and Buelly Boy going out tonight?" Linds asked.

Harlow shrugged, peering over her shoulder. "I'm not sure. I think he's really busy with all the meetings and stuff .. I don't really wanna bother him if he's got to be working all night."

"I'm sure you wouldn't be a bother," Lindsey said kindly. "Unless he's bothered by endless hours of sex and champagne and other naughty little treats."

Harlow flushed pink, but laughed along with Linds and I - Sophie was peering around the room darkly.

"Would it really kill them to have just _one_ bar up here?" she muttered.

"Ahh, drunko, you want us to get you some alcohol?" I asked, in a rather sympathetic tone (or so **I** thought, anyways).

Sophie clicked her tongue impatiently. "I don't want _some_. I want copious amounts. I want it served to me in a garbage bin sized cup. And then I want to eat, and pretend like I didn't just waste an hour and a half of my life."

"So yes to the alcohol, then," Lindsey said, rolling her eyes. "You know it wasn't a waste, Sophie - if you'd actually been _listening_ to the presentation instead of grinding your teeth, you might've actually **learned** something."

"Yeah man, I might've learned something too if I'd have been able to hear them over said grinding," I said, with a cheeky little grin at Sophie.

"Don't piss me off," she said wearily. "Just get me alcohol."

"Fine, dinner it is," I sighed, and looked over at Harlow - she was giving Sophie a wholey disapproving look. "You wanna come grab some num nums and sight-see with us?"

"I don't know," she said tentatively. "I mean, I'd love to, but ... I'm kind of tired. I think I might just hang back here and say hello to Ryan, then maybe head back to the hotel and crash. We got a pretty early flight out of here tomorrow."

"Harlow, I hate to break this to you - but nine in the morning isn't 'early' for most _normal_ people," Lindsey said with a grin. "Just because _your_ day doesn't officially begin until noon doesn't make it the norm for everyone."

"It _should_ be the norm," she grumbled. "Regardless, I appreciate the offer but I'm pretty sure I'm just gonna head back to the hotel and crash."

"Without even saying hi?"

We all looked over Harlow's shoulder, and I saw a faint pinkish hue appear on her smooth cheekbones. Ryan padded up to our little group, coming to a stop next to Harlow. He had to have been a good head and a half taller than she was, but they looked rather ... _perfect_, together. The way she looked at him, eyes bright and cheerful. The way he stood close to her, protective, lovingly.

Ooooh, I could've squealed in delight!

"Of course not," Harlow said, with a small smile. "I was gonna say hello to you and Chip first, and **then** head back to the hotel."

"I don't know if I believe you," he said with a smirk. "I _guess_ I can give you the benefit of the doubt, though."

She grinned, and knocked a shoulder gently into his arm. He laughed, and looked over at the three of us politely.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harlow apologized. "Ryan, these are my team mates and dearest friends. Kimmy, Lindsey, and I think you must know Sophie."

"Nice to meet you Ryan," I said, shaking his big hand rather gingerly.

"And you, Kimmy," he said. "I've seen you play, you're fantastic."

"I'm better," Lindsey said with a smug little grin over at me. "Great to meet you."

"You too," he said with a laugh. "I've seen you play too, you both could _easily_ beat me. Probably even if you were both blindfolded."

We both laughed, and he turned rather awkwardly to Sophie, who was giving him a look somewhere between one of deepest loathing and blatant curiosity.

"And Sophie," he said politely, extending a hand haphazardly. "I've heard a lot of great things about you."

Her brow furrowed a bit, and to all of our immense surprise, she took his hand quickly in hers, shook, and let go, letting it fall down to her side.

"Likewise," was all she managed to say.

Well, hey! This was **huge** progress! I could've shed a tear ... our little Sophie, becoming less of a frigid bitch, day by day!

Ryan smiled rather awkwardly, and looked back at the rest of us.

"You ladies planning on hitting the town tonight?" he asked.

"We're gonna sight-see," Lindsey said cheerfully. "I know we're twenty three, twenty four years old and we probably should be hittin' up all the bars and clubs, but ... "

"We're going to take the 85 year old lonely cat woman route and take pictures of the tall buildings," I finished, with a slightly embarrassed but amused little grin.

He laughed, raking a hand through his short hair - a habit I couldn't help but notice was a lot similar to sweet little Harlow's.

"Nothing wrong with that," he said, with a smile. "The first time I came to New York I was epitome tourist .. stumbling around with my face attached to a camera, wearing my 'I Heart New York' shirt."

"Ah shit, we still need to pick one of those up!" Lindsey said.

"It won't be hard to find one, they sell them on _every_ corner," Ryan chuckled.

"We'll hit one up when we're going for dinner," I said, making a mental note to buy fifty and try sellin' them back on campus. "You have any plans for tonight, Ryan?"

"Oh, well .. I'm not sure," he said, looking over at Harlow.

She smiled and shrugged.

"I've got no meetings," he said, more to her than anyone else. "I'm free tonight."

"Awe, what a shame, Lo!" Lindsey said, eyes twinkling evilly. "And all _you're_ doing tonight is going back to the hotel to sleep."

"You're _such_ a granny," I said, grinning.

She shot us both dirty but slightly amused looks, and laughed. "I'm _not_ a granny. I'm just kinda sleepy, I guess."

"Suit yourself," I said, with a rather _exaggerated_ sigh. "Linds, Soph - lets go. We have pigeons to chase and pictures to snap."

"And a liquor mart to rob for drunk-ass," Lindsey said, motioning to the silent, slightly irritated looking Sophie.

"Ryan, that was a fantastic presentation," I said sincerely, and I was happy to see him flush a little in embarrassment. "I learned _loads_!"

"Same here," Lindsey chimed in. "You really got one hell of a talent, Buell. You and that Chip guy did amazing. Don't you think, Soph?"

Clearly surprised she was still being included in the conversation, she shot Lindsey a petrified look and then glanced up at Ryan.

"Great," she said dully.

"Thanks," Ryan said, smiling cautiously at Sophie. "I hope you girls have a fun night - stay away from third avenue after dark. Gets kinda mean there when the moon's out, trust me."

"Will do, bud," I said happily. "Take care of yourself Harlow."

"Yeah," called Lindsey over her shoulder, flinging an arm around Sophie. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do .. or _do_, I don't really care."

She and Ryan both waved at us, as we carted Sophie off into the adjoining hallway. Once out of earshot, Lindsey and I broke into excited giggles.

"You see the way she looks at him!" I swooned, clutching Sophie's arm with more force than I meant to - she winced.

"Or the way his face just _lights up_ when she's near him!" Lindsey sighed, putting a hand over her heart.

"You two need to get a life," Sophie muttered.

"Oh Sophie, hold me like Ryan holds Harlow!" Lindsey cried, throwing herself at Soph.

"Tenderly caress my face and call me beautiful!" I sobbed, grasping her waist tightly in my arms.

"Throw me on a horse's back and ride with me off into the sunset!" Lindsey wailed.

"Piss _off_ you two. I hope a huge pigeon shits on both your heads the second we get outside."

"As long as I have you, nothing will dampen my spirits, come rain, come shine, come pigeon shit!"

"I hate you both."

**(Ryan)**

"So you really plan on just going back to your hotel and sleeping?"

She watched as her three friends disappeared out into the hallway, before turning her bright eyes up to me and smiling.

"Not unless you have something else planned?" she asked, rather innocently.

I grasped her hand carefully, and she gave my fingers a soft little squeeze.

"I was thinking maybe a quick little jaunt to one of New York's famous pizza parlors," I said, rubbing her palm. "Maybe take a little tour around the city. I hear the Silvermine River is beautiful at night."

"Oh yeah?" she said thoughtfully, leaning gently against my side. "I'd love to see it."

"I'd love to take you," I said quietly.

"I'll go anywhere as long as it's with you," she said softly.

I grinned, twining my fingers around her. "Shall we go?"

"We shall," she said, that bright and beautiful smile lighting up her face. "Oh, but first - I should probably go say 'hello' to Chip and the gang. I'd hate to be rude."

I nodded, and motioned back towards the far corner, near the seminar room. "They've all conspired over there, c'mon - I'll take you."

"Thanks love," she said cheerfully, peering over the crowds toward the back of the hall.

Oooh, she called me _love! _Was this a new pet name she'd come up with for me? I dug it. I should think of one for her ... _Sweetheart_. No. That's lame. _Honey_. No, that's even worse. _Porkchop._

Uh .. I'll try again tomorrow.

My hand still wrapped around hers, we ventured through the less crowded room and towards my dearest friends. They all sat comfortably perched upon the abandoned booths in the corner, talking animatedly between themselves. Ignoring some _very_ obvious stares from passersby, we made our way over to the little group of my fellow Ghost Chasers.

"Harlow!" Heather said excitedly, jumping off the booth and seizing Lo around her waist. "How nice of you to come and visit me! You're just _too_ sweet!"

She laughed, letting go of my hand (**dammit**, Tad!) to wrap her own arms around Heather's back.

"Of course I did, you know I'd travel the _globe_ just to see your lovely face," she responded, as Heather's face brightened even more than I thought humanly possible.

"Can we please get married?" she said hopefully.

"Please ignore Taddy," Katrina cut in, with a friendly little wave at Harlow. "Tad just chugged back about five cups of lemonade - that's five servings of sugar more than she's allowed a day."

"And please ignore Katrina," Heather said apologetically. "She's not used to going so long without a shot of vodka."

"Nice to see you again, Harlow," Chad interrupted, rolling his eyes at the near-constant bickering of Heather and Katrina. "Great game today."

"Oh, thank you," she said, with a brilliant smile. "Clearly I overestimated NYU ... which was a very pleasant surprise, I'll tell you that much. Hello Sergey, Hi Eilfie."

"Hello Harlow," Eilfie said politely.

Sergey muttered something unintelligible, turned a bright, tomato red and ducked back behind his tech booth.

"And _hello _Chip!" Lo said cheerfully, as Chip strutted over to join the group.

"Harlow!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her shoulders. "M'girl! How **are** you!"

"I'm great, Chip, just fantastic," she squeaked, from somewhere under his massive scarf. "How're you?"

"Excellent, I'm fantastic," Chip said jovially. "My God, look at you ... I'll never get over it. You take my _breath_ away, woman!"

How _dare_ you take my future pick-up lines, Chip! **BAH**.

"And you take away mine," Harlow wheezed, gasping for air from somewhere in the depths of his chest.

He pulled her away, examining her at arms length and grinning. "Fantastic .. just _beautiful_."

"Jeeze Chip, why don't you at least _pretend_ to be excited to see her," Katrina said cheekily.

Chip shot her a snarky look, and released Harlow's shoulders.

"So what are you two kids doin' tonight?" he asked, looking between Lo and I.

Harlow looked up at me, eyes sparkling and gave a little shrug. "I think just grabbing a bite to eat, maybe do a little bit of sight-seeing."

"You've never been to New York before?" Chad asked, looking inquisitively at Harlow.

"Not in over a decade," she replied, with a sad little smile. "I lived here for a couple months when I was twelve, but I haven't been back since."

I didn't think anyone else noticed the sadness sweep across her face, as it was only there for a split second, but I saw it. Must've been Foster Care. I made a mental note to ask her about her time spent here, at least I had _one_ conversation starter to keep in mind. Hurrah! Looks like it wouldn't be four hours of me staring hopelessly at her chest and telling her horrifically embarrassing stories about my childhood!

"Ah, did you like it when you were here?" Eilfie asked curiously.

"Mm, not so much," she said, her long brown hair rippling as she shook her head. "It was ... too _crowded_, I guess you could say."

I peeked down at my watch, and looked over at Harlow. She peered up at me, eyes twinkling.

"We should really get going," I said, noticing for the first time the nearly vacant banquet hall around us. "I know you don't want _too_ late of a night."

She shook her head. "No, I've got to catch an early flight out tomorrow. I'm sorry, it was lovely seeing you guys, though," she said, rather apologetically to the crowd of my co-workers.

"It's always great to see you," Katrina said cheerfully.

"We should be best friends," Heather said brightly.

"Gimme a call sometime, Harlow," Chip said, wagging his finger scornfully. "Don't forget about ol' Chippy. I'd love to hear from you!"

"I'll call," she promised, hitching her purse further up her arm. "I'll see the rest of you back on campus in a couple of days. And I'm sure I'll see you around, Chad."

"I'll make sure we do," he said, with a smile.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow," I said. "Don't know if you'll still be up when I get hom - "

"Oh, hello Denise!"

**AHH. AHH. AHH. AHH.**

Harlow's head turned politely behind her, as did mine, and I saw with a terrible knot in my stomach that slightly toady face I was so accustomed to seeing every second day in the very front row of my class. Ugh. Whyyyyy. WHY.

"Oh, hello Heather," Denise said brightly, and I noticed Bri Tanner was a foot behind her, glowering darkly at Harlow. "How are you?"

"Great, thanks," Heather responded, trying and failing to jab Katrina in the ribs - Kat's face was especially sour.

"Great presentation today, Ryan," Denise said, although her eyes were focused more on Harlow than on me. "It was very ... _enlightening_."

"Well, thanks," I said politely, and I moved rather involuntarily closer to Harlow - I saw Denise's face whiten, but the sickly sweet smile was still stuck in place. "What a - uh, _pleasant_ surprise to see you down here. You too, Bri."

Bri's eyes lit up, and she waved enthusiastically in my direction. "Always great to see you, Ryyyy!"

"And who's this lovely girl beside you?" Denise asked, eyes round with a strange, slightly **evil** glow to them.

"Harlow," Lo said, extending her hand courteously - I saw Katrina's breath catch slightly in her throat, and Eilfie's eyes narrowed. "It's nice to meet you."

With slight hesitation, and her smile faltering just a _little_, Denise reached out and shook Harlow's hand. "The pleasure's all mine," she said softly, eyes glimmering. "You're not _in_ PRS, **are** you? Or perhaps I just didn't notice?"

_Oh __**please**__, Denise_, I thought, trying to hide the scowl on my face. _You know for a __**fact**__ you would've noticed if someone like Harlow was in our class_. She's not exactly someone that can be easily overlooked.

"Oh no," Harlow said, with a polite smile. "I'm just a friend of theres, I go to Penn State as well - I was in the city, figured I'd check out the seminars."

"How lovely," Denise said, with that ridiculous smile still plastered on her face. "I'm sure I'll see you again back on campus, then."

"I hope so," Harlow said, in a surprisingly earnest tone.

"I've got to run," Denise said slyly. "Got some things to discuss with some old friends. I'll see you in class, Ryan, Heather. _Katrina."_

Kat made a sound somewhere between a hiss and snort, and simply nodded her head. Heather gave a rather forced smile and waved.

"Until then," I said, with a nod at her, then at Bri. "Have a good night, girls."

The two of them scampered off, Bri still shooting daggers at Harlow who seemed either unaware or unphased by the furious glares. She watched them off, a slightly apprehensive look on her face, but the apprehension turned to concern when she looked back and saw the sour looks on half of the group's faces.

"She seemed alright," Harlow said, rather tentatively.

"She's **foul**," Katrina said irritably, watching as the two girls disappeared into the hallway. "Just _awful_."

"So phony," Eilfie agreed, a very unusual look of annoyance on her usually content face. "She's terrible."

"And she looks like a Bullfrog," Heather added, rather thoughtfully.

Harlow smiled, slightly awkwardly. "I didn't think she seemed that bad ... I _have_ been known to be fairly naive, though ... "

"Terrible aura around her," Chip said, eyes narrowed slightly. "Not a pleasant one."

"And she smelt like cat litter," Chad said, arms crossed in front of him.

"Don't worry about her, Harlow," Katrina said, attempting to look unabashed. "She's no one you'd _want _to know. I'd stay away from her."

"Unless you like frogs," Heather said. "Then by all means, study her and feed her flies."

**(Denise)**

"Katrina's such a _bitch_."

"Be quiet, Bri. She's the least of our worries now."

Bri peered up at me, puzzled - although that was nothing new. She spent half her life confused, I don't know why this normal blank stare of confusion irritated me so much. You figure I would've grown used to it by now.

"Was that Ryan's girlfriend?" she asked, with a pronounced pout.

"Not for long," I answered, stepping into the elevator. Bri followed, another quizzical look on her face - what a _surprise_.

"What do you mean, not for lo - "

"I have **serious** dirt on Ryan's ugly little 'girlfriend'," I said, after the elevator doors thunked shut.

"You think she's ugly?" Bri asked, surprised. "I think she's _beautiful_, she looks like a model. She's on the volleyball team, I think - the Captain."

"Once again, you've missed the point _completely_," I snarled, watching the numbers decrease on the panel above the door. "I have _dirt_ on that bitch, Bri."

"What kind of dirt?"

"The _best_ kind."

The 'L' lit up, and with a sharp little _ding_, the doors creaked open. We stepped out into the crowded lobby, Bri a couple paces behind me.

"What did you find out?" she called, jogging to keep up with my long strides.

"Harlow hasn't exactly been _honest_ with all of us," I said, grinning the grin that hadn't left my face in _hours_. "You won't even _believe_ what I overheard."

"What? What did you hear?"

"Let me put it this way," I said, enjoying the glorious sunset more than I think I ever had before. "Little Miss Perfect won't ever want to show her face in school again once **this** secret gets out."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I have enough gossip on Harlow Vincent to run her out of this school for good. And when Ryan, heartbroken over the loss of his lovely little **freak**, looks for a shoulder to cry on - here I am, ready made."

Bri shot me a skeptical look. "What could you _possibly _know about Harlow Vincent that's bad enough to run her out of University?"

"It's not what I know," I smiled. "It's what she couldn't _stand_ for everyone **else** to."

**(Eilfie)**

"I have a feeling Ryan's gonna get some hot, steamy, bow chicka **wow wowwww** tonight."

We laughed, as Heather mimed (quite effectively, may I add) a slow motion butt slap. Ryan and Harlow - hands held, bodies close - made a beeline out of the room and out into the long hallway a few moments ago, leaving the six of alone in now completely empty boardroom. We were all still seated on the empty booths, except for Heather, who'd been fidgety and flitting about for the past twenty minutes.

"So they _are_ together, then?" Chip asked, eyes bright behind his round frames.

"Sure looks like it," Katrina said, with a content smile splayed across her face. "They're adorable, aren't they?"

"What's with women and thinking everything's 'adorable',"Chad asked, shaking his head.

"Your eyes are _adorable_, Chad," Heather said brightly, spinning around in cheerful little circles. "Your sweater is _adorable_, Chad. Your pants are _adorable_, Chad. Your hands are _adorable, _Chad. You're just so _adorable, _Chad!"

"I think that's gotta be one of the first times in my entire life I've ever been called** adorable**," Chad said, slight amusement in his voice.

"You think they'll last a long time?" Chip asked, oblivious to Chad and Heather.

"I think so," I said honestly, pulling my legs up to my chin. "Harlow seems to _really_ like him."

"And Ryan's **nuts** about Harlow," Katrina agreed. "He has been since the first day he saw her."

"It's like a fairytale, isn't it?" Chip said dreamily.

"Prince Doofus falls for the Princess," Heather said cheerily. "And they live happily ever after."

"Not before the Prince saves the Princess from some terrible trauma," Chad said.

We all looked at him thoughtfully. His cheeks burned a bright crimson and he raised his hands in defense.

"Oh no, no .. I didn't mean - no, you're right, I'm sure they're going to just skip to the happily ever after part," Chad said, shaking his head. "That was a stupid thing to say .. "

"No, it's a fairly accurate thing to say, actually," Sergey said thoughtfully. "When has a story ever skipped right to the happily every after?"

"Almost never," Katrina replied, face lined with worry.

"C'mon you guys," Heather said, flinging her hair back indignantly. "Stop being such a bunch of bummers. Princess Harlow and Princess Ryan will live happily ever after. You know it. I know it. We **all** know it."

"Don't you mean _Prince_ Ryan?" I asked.

"Mmm - nope. No, I meant what I said the first time."

"Nothing could tear those two apart," Katrina said confidently. "I'm sure the only 'trauma' they're going to have to face in their relationship is the wrath of Denise Howells. Which isn't a trauma, more of a minor irritation. Like a breakout of hives. Aggravating, but with cream and persistence, it eventually goes away, right?"

"Are you actually comparing Denise to a case of hives?" Heather asked delightedly.

"I guess a wart would've been more accurate," Katrina said snidely.

We all laughed, but the uneasiness that had risen between the six of us didn't falter right away. Chad's words had shaken us all - he'd been right, hadn't he? What fairytale romance like the one between Ryan and Harlow had ever gone well? The course of true love never did run smooth, we all knew that. But I couldn't, and I knew no one else here could either, think of anything that might tear those two apart. Perhaps Shakespeare had been wrong. Perhaps this time, in this one instance, love was supposed to be bump free. Maybe it was supposed to skip right to a happily ever after?

There was nothing on this Earth that could break those two apart.

Nothing.

... Right?

**(Ryan)**

"I don't actually think I've ever eaten pizza **that** good before!"

"What'd I tell ya? Best pizza in the entire state."

"Maybe even in the entire _world_."

I laughed at that dazzling look of wonder shining in Harlow's eyes - a delicious piece of pizza was enough to send her into a fit of delight. My kinda gal.

We'd left Carlos' Parlor about five minutes ago, and headed West down the fairly unoccupied street. The closer you got to the New York suburbs, the less crowded and bustling the streets there were. The April evening was warm, but had a brisk chill to it, and the moon had risen high and bright in the inky black sky. It illuminated the town, cast dark shadows of the houses it brightened. The streetlamps buzzed and pulsated, the noise of heavy traffic distant, muted.

Next to me, nibbling cheerfully on the lid of her coffee cup, Harlow looked with bright, excited eyes at the scenery around her. She took in every house, every shop, every dirty hobo, every stray cat. She appreciated the beauty of even the smallest potted plant, basked happily in the flickering glow of every streetlight. Every nippy breeze that blew past us made her laugh, every car alarm wailing in the distance made her smile. She enjoyed every step she took, relished in every detail she noticed.

It was hard not to feel instantly happy in her presence. She was a wholey good person. She made sure to stop and smell the flowers. She saw beauty in the ugliest of things. She appreciated everything, everyone. She was outwardly beautiful, there was no denying it - but it was inside of her, the person you didn't see. **That's** where her true beauty came from.

She loved so thoughtlessly. Laughed so easily. Tried so tirelessly.

Life was hell, and she knew that. But whatever horrors she'd seen so young, whatever demons had harassed her, whatever memories had haunted her - you didn't see them. She had immolated them. Left them outside herself. Moved on.

Became the person I loved so much, the person who's hand was held tightly in my own.

"I'm glad I came out tonight," she said, eyes bright in the moonlight. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

"I'm glad you came out," I said sincerely, giving her hand a soft squeeze. "I know what a crazy good time you would've had curled up in your bed watching 'Friends' reruns, but all things considered, it hasn't been _that_ terrible of a night."

She laughed, throwing her coffee mug in a nearly overflowing garbage can. "Only for you would I miss my precious Ben and Jerry's and television party."

"You said you lived in New York when you were twelve," I said, remembering our earlier conversation with the team. "Did you live around here?"

She smiled, and shook her head. "No - as cliche as it sounds, I was down closer to the Bronx. Near High Bridge."

"Nice area?" I asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

She rolled her eyes, but gave me a little smile. "The view was nice ... at night sometimes, the older kids used to take us down to the Hudson Strait, right on the edge of the river. Across the river was Manhattan. I don't know if you've ever seen Manhattan at night, but it's beautiful. It was like looking at a big picture - all the skyscrapers and high rises. Lit up like a Christmas tree."

"That sounds amazing," I agreed.

She nodded. "It was. Myself and the three other younger girls my age, we used to point out different buildings, pick out where we were going to live once we got out of the system. We were all going to be famous movie stars, or doctors or lawyers or rock stars. We swore we'd never step back into High Bridge ever again. We'd only live in Manhattan, and we'd all be trillionaires. The older kids used to make fun of us for it, but we still had the one thing they didn't."

"What was that?"

"Hope," she said, rather quietly. "We were young enough to still remember what that was."

I smiled, but the story saddened me more than anything else I think I'd ever heard before. Harlow, I suppose, sensed it, and gave my hand a little squeeze.

"It's not really that sad," she said softly. "New York was a happy time, one of the few. It gave me hope."

"Do you still talk to anyone you knew when you lived here?" I asked.

She shook her head. "It's not possible to keep in touch. You're shuttled around so much, it's hard to remember the name of the person you shared a room with two moves ago."

"All that moving around," I said, more to myself than to her. "It had to have been such a pain."

"You grew accustomed to it," she said simply. "You didn't have many belongings. All your stuff - and this was the same for every Foster kid - could easily fit into a garbage bag. Clothes and a toy or two. The luckier kids sometimes could fill two whole bags, but I was never one of them."

I felt a horrible pang of sadness in my gut - the smallest bookshelf in my house could fill two garbage bags alone. My socks and underwear wouldn't even fit in one. What it must have been like, having the contents of your life, all fit into one little bag.

"You'd pick up little treasures with each move," she said, looking untroubled, more thoughtful. "But you'd lose them after a couple months. Every kid had _one_ thing, though, they went with them wherever they went."

"What did you have?"

"A teddy bear," she said, and laughed at the thought of it. "It was the last - actually, it was the _only_ thing I'd ever gotten from my Mum. It wasn't big, just ... regular Teddy size, I suppose. All furry and soft and brown. Little button black eyes, a pink, felt nose. Simple, couldn't have cost her more than a couple dollars. But I loved that little guy."

"What happened to it?" I asked, as we turned down a rather winding street lit up with the orange glow of the streetlights.

"I lost it," she said, frowning a little. "Somewhere between New Mexico and Texas. Three moves in a week and a half, I was more preoccupied with where I was going to end up than with the life of my little stuffie."

"It just disappeared?"

She shrugged. "Things went missing a lot. Sometimes entire bags would fall out of the trunks of our caseworker's cars. We'd be stuck in the same outfits for days. Even weeks."

I looked at her now, so smartly dressed, so well put together. It was hard to believe she'd ever have worn the same thing two days in a row, nevermind the same outfit for weeks at a time.

"It was never fun," she said softly. "But it is what it is."

"It's not fair," I said quietly, as we turned down onto a main road - cars flew back and forth. "You lost so much. I know you're not supposed to count wins and losses in life, but .. don't you find it hard not to?"

She shook her head, gazing into store windows as we passed.

"I don't," she said, with honest certainty. "If you spend your life trying to even out the good and the bad, where's that going to get you? It's a waste of such a short time. I try and live like there's _only_ good."

"I think that's one of my favorite parts about you," I said quietly.

She beamed at me, rubbing her cheek against my arm.

We crossed the street in one of the very few breaks in traffic, and walked over towards the long Silvermine River. There was a chest high, black steel fence all along the perimeter and beautiful, antique streetlamps set up ten feet apart all along the gate. Harlow and I moved towards the banister, both leaning over the rail to look at the river nearly twenty feet away.

It shimmered and glistened in the moonlight. It mirrored the stars twinkling in the sky above, reflected every passing beam of light over it. It was serene, quiet, calm. Unlike the city surrounding it, it was peaceful, at ease. It wasn't bothered with the hustle and bustle around it. It was content in it's own lonely little gated community. It was tranquil.

"It's beautiful," Harlow said softly.

I looked over at her, and smiled. The beams of light reflecting off the river's surface illuminated her face. The green of her eyes amplified to dazzling harlequin. Her hair looked like it was glowing. The soft skin even softer, the sharp contours of her face more pronounced. Her lips were the deepest coral, slightly parted as she gazed in awe down at the water.

She turned to me. Her eyes were blazing, full of something I hadn't seen before. They were not fearful. They were not nervous, or anxious. They were alight with something so beautiful, I couldn't look away.

I took her waist, pulling her towards me. Her arms were automatically on my chest, snaking around and up and over my shoulders. The smell of her hair, her skin - it was exhilarating. The feel of her warm body against mine - I can't explain it.

Our lips met. It felt like prior to this moment, I had never _truly_ been alive before. The air was chilly, the cars were loud, the night was young. But my body was alive, my mind was racing - every inch of me, every part of my brain, **everything** - it needed her. Before this moment, I don't know if I'd ever fully understood what it meant to feel. But now, I knew.

What a rush it was, to kiss her on this near empty street. Like a shock of electricity coursing through my entire body. She was so close, I could feel her heart thumping against my chest. I ran my hands through her hair - like moving them through silk. I couldn't breath, I couldn't move - I was frozen in this perfect moment. Her small hands running up and down my chest, the scent of her skin making me dizzy.

She stopped first, her lips resting against mine, eyelashes tickling my face. I could see my own hazy brown eyes mirrored in her emerald ones. She kissed me once more, softly, gently.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For bringing me here."

"Thank you for coming with me," I said softly.

She smiled, and my heart nearly exploded into a million little pieces. That smile - _her_ smile. It's hard to explain if you've never loved before: but when it comes down to the person that owns your very heart and soul, you'll do anything in the entire world just to see them smile. My last dying thought would be of that smile. Every morning when I woke up, that's what I would think of. Everytime I was sad, angry, depressed, alone. I'd think of that. For the rest of my life, for the rest of eternity, I would remember it. It was tattooed in my brain, burned into my heart - _forever_.

And nothing would ever change that.

_Nothing_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HOLA, MY LOVELY READERS! I HOPE YOU ALL HAD A WONDERFUL HOLIDAY AND THE HAPPIEST OF NEW YEARS!

Mucho apologies for the lack of update, but life has been so beyond stressful it's a wonder I even remembered what a computer was! New job, applying for University, Christmas (or rather, Stressmas - bah dum _tshhhh_). Life's been nutso, but I know that's no excuse my sweet peas. So here we go! A rather long chapter with some hot riverside makeout sessions. Hellz yes.

Now! For my thank-yous!

**WinchesterAngel3389:** May I just say, that nothing gets past you, you smarty smart smart pants. Although I'm potentially the worst at foreshadowing, you always seem to catch little hints and bits that I throw into the story. You're brilliant, I want your brain. And not in a weird zombie way, in like a "I WORSHIP YOU." kinda way. :D Thank you for the review!

**RoselynnNoelle:** My bee-ah-yewww-tee-full newest reviewer! And my soul sister, obviously. Your reviews never fail to brighten my life, squeal in delight and sob a little in sheer love for you. At least I'm not alone in peeing myself at the thought of Ryan a doped out date raped little munchkin. We truly are meant to be. You're wonderful, don't ever stop being so fabulous! Thanks for the review my love!

**xoxoxMyRealityIsFiction:** I am addicted to YOUR pure awesomeness! My awesomeness lives vicariously through you! UHM, and like, not that I'm offended, but you can't be in love with Heather and/or Sophie. Because we're kind of already in love, you and I. And I will not share you with a fictional character. As always, you've made my life even more wonderful, and I thank you for your loyal reviewing - let's hold hands and skip into the sunset.

**akahitoha**: I AM SO DAMN CHEERFUL. I'm cheerful because you're in my FanFiction life now, and will forever by my little akahitoha-pie, and we will hug and dance and be merry forever more. Your review made me squeal so shrilly and enthusiastically, my dog barked and ran out of the room. You're wonderful, be mine! (L)

**heyymelx3:** HAHAHA I CRAVE HIS DIRECTOR'S LOG TOO, is that like weird? Hells no it's not. I'm not even kidding, the first time I saw him all serious on a hillside saying "Director's Log" into a tiny recorder, I nearly peed myself laughing. His log, it's SERIOUS business. YESSSSS, I will make sure and wear something bright and neon and crazy as balls so you'll see me when you pick me up. I'll wear like a neon mesh shirt and glow-in-the-dark lime green tights. I think all FanFic authors are supposed to be a bit nuts. SEE YOU IN 5. *jumps aboard private FF jet* THANKS FOR THE REVIEW, I LOVE YOU MY SWEET JELLY BEANY LOVE!

**kcollins**: The most loyal reviewer in the history of the FanFiction world! I can't say I love you enough. I will travel to the tallest mountain and shout my undying, unrequited adoration for you. Will that be okay? I hope so. Thank you for the review, you beautiful beautiful gal!

**silentC:** Ooooh rewriting your story! I want to read it, right now now now now. I also just wanna say, if everyone _makes_ it to the end of the story (just sayyyyyin' .. I can't rule out the deaths of characters, y'know?) you're officially invited to Rylo's imaginary fake wedding. You'll be the maid of honor, the best man AND the organ player, that's how important you are. Thank you for the review, you adorable human being! My love for you is forever and ever.

**ferret assassin nin:** MY LOVE YOU'VE RETURNED TO ME WITH WHAT MAY BE THE LONGEST REVIEW IN THE HISTORY OF YOUR LIFE! Since the story IS so dark, I try and at least brighten it up a bit with happy chapter names, but it's gonna get harder as the story progresses (oooh, hint!). You're not obsessed OR crazy. You're just so lovely and single-handedly the best motivator for little ol' writers like me, that's all! I love you for it! I would lovelovelovelove to read your story! Please PM me the link! I'm a terrible reviewer and updater, and I don't get on the computer as much as I'd like to, but the second I have some free time your story is mine for the lovin'! As always, you're more appreciated than you even know, I love love love and adore you to bits!

8 fabulous reviews by 8 fabulous people! You all brighten my days, I can not possibly thank you enough!

A warning, though - the story is going to be getting a titch darker. Well, not a titch. A lot. Our little lovely character friends will be going through some pretty dark shat, and I'm hoping that you guys will be able to stay with me through the thick, the thin and the super dark. Feel free to PM me anytime, and I hope you all have a wonderful week!

**love always, **ellah!


	17. You're So Pale, You Put Ghosts To Shame

**Chapter Sixteen**

You're So Pale, You Put Ghosts To Shame

**(Harlow)**

"It's been coming, Harlow, I've felt it coming for weeks now, it's building up and I - "

"Chick. Shut up. Please. _Please_. Just shut, **up**."

Scowling, she hovered back and forth less frantically, but kept shooting looks of the utmost contempt over at me with every lap of the room she made. With a great, snotty, phlegmy cough, I flopped back onto my mound of fluffy pillows, brain banging painfully against my skull.

"I feel like _Hell_."

"It'll get worse," Chick muttered solemnly.

"Didn't I already tell you?" I snapped, reaching blindly for a clean tissue in my pile of wadded snotty ones. "Shut up with all that nonsense. I said you could come in and keep me company as long as you just stopped blabbing on and on and _on_ about those stupid feelings."

"They're _not_ stupid," she said indignantly, freezing in place and glaring at me.

"My sincerest apologies."

"I hope you overdose on Vapor rub."

Lovely, isn't she?

I'd been cooped up in bed nearly half the week - it was Friday, three days since I'd gotten home from my absolutely wonderful, fan-tab-ulistic little vacation from New York. I had been fine the entire trip, not so much as a sniffle. So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up on Tuesday morning, feeling an awful lot like I'd been hit head on by a semi truck. In the three days since, I had lived in my bed. Had sweated, drooled and mucused all over my sheets and pillows. Had created a small scale model of Mount Kilimanjaro out of used Kleenex. Had taken on the distinct look of a hardcore cocaine addict who was so high she had forgotten how to use a shower. Frankly, I was a **mess**. A hot, sneezy, coughy, fevery mess.

Like ... who _wouldn't_ do me?

Not only had I dealt with a cold for three days, but I'd also found myself dealing with an irritable - well ... even _more so _than usual - Chick. Usually, she'd do her best to stay far the Hell away from me - it had been how we'd lived for _years_ now. I'd come home, say hello. She'd make some rude crack or remark about me being a nerd, and then we'd just go about our business. I'd do homework, she'd wander through walls. I'd make a TV dinner, she'd wander through walls. I'd watch television, she'd wander through walls. I'd go to bed, she'd forgotten how to. It was our routine. One we'd felt comfortable in for nearly four years.

But for the past few weeks, she'd been stalking me. Legit stalking me. I'd wake up in the morning, she'd be on the end of my bed. I'd take a shower, she'd perch herself on the toilet. I'd make toast, she'd have her chin resting on the margarine container. Everywhere I went in this place, everything I did, Chick would follow me. Chick would watch me. Chick would **stalk** me.

Like, I know she's already dead. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't spent the last week plotting ways to re-kill her.

For someone who didn't sleep - wasn't able to, was more accurate - Chick had been talking about dreams an awful lot lately. Visions, she said. Feelings. Premonitions. Whatever. But the more I tried to make her elaborate on said dreams, the more questions I asked about her so-called premonitions - the more vague she became. She'd stalk me all through my apartment, wailing and whining about the bad aura and the impending feeling of doom she had about me. And then the moment I tried to talk to her about it, she'd disappear.

Literally.

You see, for _days_ now, Chick had kept a safe distance from me. Initially I'd figured it was because I was a walking, talking, hacking greaseball. But I'd realized as of late, it was more than just my disgusting outward appearance. Everytime I moved toward her, came a little too close, stepped a little too near, she'd move away. Flee from the room. Simply disappear through a wall or door. Whether she was doing it intentionally or not, I was still trying to figure that out.

She'd follow me like a heat-seeking missile, but the second I turned around or came too close, she'd freak out and disappear as far away from me as she possibly could.

Whatta weirdo.

"I don't know why you're freaking out," I sighed, dabbing at my leaking nose once more. "Chick, you're dead. You don't have any senses, nevermind a sixth one."

"It's not a sense," she said in exasperation. "It's a _feeling_, Harlow."

"Sense, feeling - whatever."

"Not whatever," she argued, her pacing becoming quicker and more agitated. "Everytime I come near you, I get this feeling like ... like the world's going to end. I feel depressed and upset."

"You and every man I've ever dated," I said, rolling my eyes.

She shot me a dirty look. "No ... not like that. It's not the '_oh God she can eat eight steaks and fart half the alphabet'_ kind of creeped out. It's .. it's different."

"I will take the high road and ignore that last insulting statement," I sniffed, wrapping myself into a warm cocoon under the fluffy duvet. "How do you mean, different?"

She looked at me curiously, but this time didn't flee in a state of panic - she looked more as if she was pondering her response. Hm. Maybe I'd finally get an answer out of her? I guess lying half-dead and greasy under a big, poofy feather filled blanket lessened my intimidation factor. At least a _little_.

"It's like .. I feel dark," she said.

"Dark? Oh please. You're so pale you put ghosts to shame."

She ignored me. "I can sit in this apartment all day, and feel nothing. The second you come home - the second you come into a room with me, come anywhere near me - I feel this sense of dread. Of darkness. I feel scared, and sad and ... and hopeless."

"Maybe you're just getting sick of me?"

She ignored me again. "Every person in the living world, in _your_ world - they have an Aura. Priests and Nuns, they have this bright and happy one. Robbers and murderers and rapists - they have a dark one, a sad and angry one. From the time I met you, you always had this golden light around you. This happy, peaceful aura. But now - "

"I'm a rapist."

She stopped her pacing, turned to me, and stared with those blank, deadened eyes. "It's not a joke, Harlow."

I sighed heavily, and looked at her drearily. "I'm sorry. Sorry."

"I just don't know why you went from golden to black in a matter of days," she said softly.

I looked at her curiously, pulling absentmindedly at my sheets. She'd never looked so sullen, and _that_ was saying something. Her hands were folded against her pale shirt, gray eyes looking with sadness - and a little bit of terror - into my own. Her stillness and quietness scared me more than anything she'd said to me in the last week - she was still as stone, unblinking and unmoving.

"I'm sick?" I reasoned, more to myself than to her. "Of course my aura's going to be off. I don't _feel_ golden. I feel like a pile of crap. Give it time. Once I kick this stupid cold, I'll be back to my glimmering, happy self again."

She clicked her tongue irritably, and began her pacing once more.

"You just don't get it," she said furiously, padding noiselessly back and forth. "There's something wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," I snapped, throwing the blanket off my body - GAHHHH, COLD COLD COLD.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her pacing subsiding once again.

"Volleyball practice," I responded, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "I've already missed one practice, Sophie'll kill me if I miss another."

"Oh no you're not," she said, her brisk, snappish tone almost back to normal. She made a move to try and block me, but seemed to think better of it a second later - she remained her newly instated ten foot distance away from me.

"Oh yes I am," I said, glancing curiously over at her rigid body - it was like her brain was fighting with the rest of her to move. How _strange_.

"Harlow, you're sick," she said, giving up the battle and perching herself atop my dresser instead.

"I'm getting better," I argued, although this wasn't exactly true.

"You're not," she sighed. "It's chilly out, you'll just make this thing worse."

"I won't," I said, and fought the childish urge to stick my tongue out at her. "A little exercise and fresh air will do me good. I've been cooped up in this bed for days."

"Cry me a river," she muttered, eyeing me curiously as I pulled a pair of grimy socks on.

"I won't be out long," I said, raking a hand through my tangled mess of hair. "No later then ten. And then I'll be home and go right to bed, like a good little girl."

Chick shot me a severely disapproving look, but bounded off the dresser as I made my way towards it. She looked rather guiltily at me as she glided away and onto the bed.

"I know I look like shit, but Jesus, woman," I said irritably. "You don't need to run away everytime I come near you."

A silence followed, an awkward one that filled the air around us. I peered back at Chick, sitting cross-legged and rigid as a board on the side of my bed. She looked at me, eyes wide and fearful.

"I .. I can't help it," she said softly.

I stopped rooting for my sweater, puzzled at the sight of terror in her normally benign, bored face.

"Can't help what?" I asked quietly.

"Moving away from you," she replied, blank eyes still looking at me curiously.

"Why can't you help it?" I asked, leaning in a would-be casual way against the dresser - my heart was thumping rather violently against my chest.

"Everytime you come near me, whether I know it or not, my legs start moving and .. and I just run away."

I frowned, looking at the plain young girl in front of me. It was true, of course .. I just hadn't realized it. For almost three weeks now, Chick had kept a minimum ten foot distance between us. I had assumed she was just being her normal, anti-social self - but it appeared she'd been unable to even help it. I knew she'd tried to keep a distance from me, that was obvious. But I didn't realize it was beyond her control.

"What happens when you try and come close?" I asked.

She shook her head, and looked ashamed down at her feet. "I just can't."

"But why can't you?"

"I don't know!"

She looked tearfully up at me, hands moving convulsively in her lap. Chick had never raised her voice before, never had anything besides a bland, slightly bored tone. This was the first time in nearly four years I'd heard anything except her usual drawl.

"I try to," she said quietly. "Sometimes at night, when you're sleeping. I try to come and sit next to you on the bed, but I .. I just can't."

Our eyes were locked, and I couldn't help the uncomfortable squirm in my stomach. She wasn't lying, I could tell that much. But why .. why, all of a sudden, could she not even come within ten feet of me? What had changed?

"It'll be alright," I said calmly, casually. "I'm sure it happens a lot. It's probably just a phase, just a weird connection thing."

"Maybe," she whispered. "Maybe you're losing touch with us .. with my world ... with _me_."

"Hey now," I said, moving towards her thoughtlessly - she sprang back, and I stopped. A wave of something between nausea and heartache twisted uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. "Sorry - sorry. Listen, Chick. I've ... look, as much as I complain about this whole Psychic thing ... it's not that bad. It's alright. I'm not losing it. I still see everything like I always did."

"But I don't see _you_ like I always did," she said, voice quavering.

"You're not losing me," I said forcefully. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

"Always?" she said quietly.

"Always," I repeated. "Till death do us - er, well _me_, part."

She nodded, but my little joke didn't even make her crack a smile. She simply stared at me, confused, upset ... fearful.

"I have to go," I said quietly, pulling my hoodie on. "I'll be home soon, alright? Don't make a mess."

I turned to the door and began to pad out, brain buzzing from the strange air in the room.

"Harlow?"

I stopped, peered over my shoulder - Chick was still perched on the side of the bed, looking at me through her curtain of straw colored hair.

"Yeah?"

"I ... nevermind," she said, with a shake of her head. "Forget it."

"No, what?"

"It's ... no. Nothing. Go, go on. Don't stay out too late."

"I won't."

I turned away again, but even the buzzing in my brain couldn't drown out the small, sad little voice from behind me;

"Be safe."

**(Kimmy)**

"You don't think it's true, do you?"

"It's got to be. _Everyone_ has been talking about it ... "

"But _Harlow_? No, no way. She's a volleyball player, a Psychology student - "

"We **all** heard it, the rumors have been _all_ over the school."

"But _Harlow?_"

"Maybe they just misheard?"

"They didn't - I heard that Denise and Bri were _right_ there when she was talking about it."

"But _Harlow_?"

The entire volleyball team, minus Sophie and Harlow, stood huddled in the center of the auditorium. Unlike her usual self, Lindsey was quiet, withdrawn - I was standing next to her, rather speechless myself. Since early this morning, when we'd all trudged to the school after hours of exam cramming and - in Natalie's case - hard partying, we'd been hearing strange rumors float all through the school. And not the usual _this-girl-slept-with-this-guy_ kind of thing ...

The rumors had been about Harlow.

"Well what **exactly** did you hear, then?" Emma asked curiously, brown eyes narrowed.

"That Harlow thinks she's a _psychic_, or something," Mickenzie said, snorting derisively. "Apparently she **thinks** she can talk to ghosts or some shit."

"But Harlow?" Meagan said softly, shaking her head. "I'm telling you, Kenzie, you probably just misheard it."

"Yeah," Jess agreed, mousey face looking between the two of them. "She's been hanging out a lot with Ryan, I think they're dating now .. someone probably just misinterpreted something."

"I heard it too," Ainslee sniffed, looking coldly at little Jess. "It's all around the school now. Harlow was at a weird ghost hunter convention when we were in New York. Apparently she was talking _all_ about how she could see ghosts and communicate with them and stuff. Bragging about it, from what I hear."

"Harlow's not a bragger," Jenn cut in, looking angrily at Ains. "And c'mon, really? Who did you hear this from? It's probably just one of those weird little skeezes in that Buell guys class who got their panties in a bunch when they realized he was boning Lo."

Ashlee snorted, throwing her long black hair behind her back. "Stop making excuses, Jenn. People _heard_ her talking about it. And even if she wasn't **bragging** about it, she was still talking about it."

"Why would she talk about something that ridiculous?" Emma snapped.

"Why would she _lie_ about something that ridiculous?" Ainslee challenged. "It's got to be the truth. If she was going to try and make herself look better and try and be more interesting, I'm pretty sure she'd have thought of something a _liiiiittle_ more impressive than that. Not to mention something a bit more .. _normal_. "

Emma eyed Ainslee furiously, but didn't respond. Jess looked between the two of them, frantic.

"You're both being ridiculous!" she stormed, and we all looked in surprise over at the tiny spiker between us - Jess never raised her voice. In fact, most times she barely spoke above a whisper.

"_We're_ being ridiculous?" Mickenzie said, looking with blatant disgust down at Jess. "More than half this team heard the **exact **same thing."

"That's not what I mean!" Jess snapped, crossing her arms furiously. "Who cares if Harlow's a 'psychic' or if she's not? She's the best coach this team has ever had, and she's a friend of ours. I don't think it should matter if she talks to ghosts for a living. She's the same Harlow she's always been!"

"Well said," Lindsey nodded.

"You guys are blowing this completely out of proportion," I agreed, putting a hand on Jess' tiny shoulder. "It's a _rumor_. Nothing more than that."

"You were with her in New York," Ashlee pressed, looking between Linds and I, a hungry look lighting up her dark eyes. "Did she, or did she _not_ go to some Psychic convention."

"Not when she was with us," I lied, looking angrily at Ashlee's dark face.

"And we were with her almost the entire night," Lindsey agreed, glaring at Mickenzie. "So I don't know how she could've _slipped_ away halfway through our evening to go parading around, declaring a psychic ability to anyone and everyone who'd listen."

Mickenzie, Ashlee and Ainslee's united front slipped slightly, and they exchanged puzzled expressions.

So, maybe Linds and I weren't being completely honest ... it's true that Harlow'd been at the Paranormal State convention ... but it wasn't because she was 'psychic'. It was because she was dating Ryan, wasn't it? And wouldn't we have heard her talk about some weird ability? We'd been with her the entire time, hadn't we?

"Well where _is_ she, then," Kenzie said, waving an arm crossly around the gym. "She missed last practice, hasn't been to school since we got home. Where's she been?"

"Well surely it has something to do with being a 'psychic'," Emma said venomously. "You know, because it's not Flu season or anything. _Idiot."_

"**What** did you call me?" Kenzie yelled, taking a step forwards.

"Ease off," Lindsey said angrily, stepping between the two girls. "Em, there's no need to call her names. Mickenzie, take a fuckin' pill. Harlow's sick, nothing else."

"Yeah, sick," Mickenzie snapped. "Sick in the head, too, if she thinks she can talk to fucking ghosts."

"What the fuck is your problem!" Meagan yelled, pointing a finger angrily at Mickenzie. "You're the **biggest** kiss ass when Harlow's here, and when she leaves, all you ever do is talk shit about her and crack awful jokes and turn into the mean little shit that everyone hates. You're nothing but a backstabbing, lying bi - "

"Eh, hey!"

The entire team turned to the auditorium doors, in time to see Sophie padding into the gym. She looked furiously between the two groups of girls on either side of the group, taking in their angry, terrified faces. Her long, shimmering golden hair was tied up in a high ponytail that bobbed behind her as she stepped closer to our circle. The cold blue of her eyes swept between each of us, before resting on Mickenzie and Meagan, who were inches away from each other, faces tomato red and eyes alight with fury.

"What's going on here?" Sophie asked, coming to a stop next to the pair.

"They're fighting about Harlow," Natalie said disapprovingly, taking a step closer to Ainslee - the _coward_.

"Harlow?" Sophie said blankly, peering over at Natalie. "What about Harlow?"

"Everyone in the school's talking about it," Natalie whispered knowingly, eyes wide. "Harlow's a _Sidekick_."

"A what?"

"Psychic, you idiot," Ainslee said, looking angrily at Natalie. "A _psychic_. Not a _sidekick_."

"Harlow's a psychic?" Sophie repeated, looking in bewilderment between Natalie and Ainslee. "Our Harlow? A psychic?"

Mickenzie nodded, breaking her death gaze from Meagan. "Yeah. Everyone's talking about it. Apparently she can talk to dead people and stuff."

Sophie blinked, looking between the ashen faces of all the team members. The cold fury in her eyes fizzled, and she doubled over, laughing louder and harder than any of us had ever seen before. She threw an arm around Natalie, simply bursting with giggles.

"My God," she choked, wiping a tear from her eye. "Mhm. A psychic, how lovely. Well, now that we're all sharing our deep dark secrets, I just _have_ to come clean - I'm a vampire. Yep. I suck blood, I sleep in a coffin - _surpriiiiiiiise_!"

"It's _not_ a joke," Ainslee said furiously. "It's been going around the entire school since this morning - somebody overheard Harlow talking about her 'Psychic Abilities' to some girl."

Sophie cocked an eyebrow, that deliciously evil smirk sliding over her pale face. "Right. Well, that Harlow. She's never been good at keeping secrets - when will she learn, standing in the middle of the library screaming out supposed psychic abilities to anyone who will listen is _not_ the way to keep a secret. Whatta girl."

"It wasn't the _library,_" Mickenzie snapped, with a very Sophie-esque glare lighting up her orangey face. "It was in New York. Apparently she went to some ghost hunting convention thing, and a bunch of people overheard her talking about it."

The smile on Sophie's face didn't quite disappear. But the light in her eyes vanished, and the glee etched in her face began to melt off, disappearing and puddling in an invisible pool by her feet.

"What?" Sophie asked, in a would-be casual voice.

"In New York," Ashlee said, sensing Sophie's swift change in mood. "She was apparently at some Ghost convention. Some people in Ryan's ghostbuster class overheard her talking to some girl about being Psychic."

"You have to hand it to her," Mickenzie said acidly. "Whether or not she's telling the truth, pretty smart move on her part - dating a big television star. Can you imagine how much money she'd get paid if she was a 'psychic' boinking the show's biggest star?"

"Shut your mouth, Mickenzie," Emma said, and the repressed rage made her voice quaver uncontrollably.

"I'm just saying," Kenzie shrugged, eyes gleaming with malevolence.

Sophie remained silent.

"It's just a rumor," Jess said quietly. "There's no basis to it. It's just a bunch of random, probably jealous girls in Ryan's class trying to start shit."

"And Kimmy and Lindsey even said that they were with Harlow the entire night in New York," Meagan agreed, inclining her head towards Linds and I. "When could she have slipped away, found a ghost convention in New York that just _happened_ to have a bunch of Penn Staters there, and declared her abilities to some random bunch of people?"

"Load of horse shit, I think," Emma said haughtily.

"If it's such a load of horse shit, why is _everyone_ in the school talking about it?" snapped Mickenzie.

"Because it's a _rumor_, you dumb bitch," Jenn roared, shooting Kenzie a furious look. "Anytime a rumor about a well known student gets out, it circulates for a week, gets more hype than a solar eclipse and then disappears when people get tired of talking about it. What makes this any different? The fact that it's Harlow getting attention for once, and not you? Does it **upset** you that all Harlow had to do was hang out with a ghost hunter to get noticed, and not bang the entire Football team?"

"Burn," I heard Lindsey mutter beside me - how true it was, _tssssssss._

"That's - you're not - that's **none** of your business!" Kenzie wailed, looking through bleary eyes at Jenn.

"You're such a cow," Ainslee hissed, wrapping an arm comfortingly around Kenzie.

"It's what everyone was thinking," Jenn said furiously. "Doesn't feel nice to be ridiculed in front of a dozen people, does it? At least **you're** here to defend yourself."

"Out of line, Jenn," Sophie said quietly, the gray-blue of her pupils burning with something unrecognizable - something rather _terrifying_, if I was to be completely honest.

There was a strange light to her eyes, one I'd never seen before. It wasn't cold, like her usual glare. It was hot. Like her eyeballs were made of laser beams or something. Her cheeks were flushed, hands clenched in fists. We all eyed her nervously, united in silence for the first time in nearly an hour. We watched Sophie, cautiously, as if she were a timebomb that could go off at any second.

But with a very obvious amount of effort, she looked calmly down at her watch and then back up to gaze at the rest of us.

"Practice is canceled," she said coolly. "Between half of you making terrible jokes at your teammates expense, and the other half wailing on your Captain - who may I just add, is the only reason _some_ of you even made it on the team - I don't think it's wise to continue on for tonight."

"What .. what are we supposed to do then?" Ainslee asked blankly. "It's Friday night, we just wasted almost half an hour - "

"I don't care what you do," Sophie snapped, the cold fury back on her sharp face. "Just get out of my face. Leave. Go to a bar. Go home. Go jump off a bridge - I don't care. Just get out of here."

No one moved for a second, before we all scrambled blindly back to the bleachers to grab our bags. Beside me, Lindsey shot me a look of pure terror - Sophie'd yelled at us before. Many a time, in complete honesty. But this wasn't yelling. The sharp edge in her voice, the furious blaze in her eyes. Something was ticking inside of Sophie, something we'd never seen the likes of before.

"We should probably like ... warn Harlow, or something," Lindsey whispered to me, as we stooped to pick up the rest of our clothing.

"About what?" Meagan asked from beside me. "That the entire school thinks she's some freaky Voodoo lady, or that Sophie looks ready to take down an entire army just by screaming?"

The majority of the team filed out of the auditorium, muttering under their breath, casting dark looks back at Sophie. Soph remained quite still, looking blankly over at the wall opposite.

"Maybe both," I said quietly, slinging my bag over my arm.

"She's probably still sick," Meagan sighed, sliding an arm through her backpack strap. "Probably better that way. Let this whole thing blow over. I'll see you guys around."

Lindsey nodded, then turned a solemn face over to me. "You don't think it's true, do you?"

I frowned. "I don't know ... I really don't. Doesn't really add up, though, does it?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Lindsey said softly.

"Even if she is," Jess piped up softly from beside us. "It shouldn't matter. Everyone likes Harlow. She's the best Captain this time has ever had. She's a nice girl. She's smart."

"No, of course we wouldn't care," I assured Jess, patting her on the back. "That's not what we meant .. it wouldn't be a bad thing. It's just ... just a strange rumor, that's all."

"We _should_ warn her, though," Jess said quietly, pulling her own backpack over her shoulders. "Sophie looks mutinous."

"She's sick, though," I said thoughtfully, peering over at Ashlee and Natalie, who were deep in quiet conversation. "I don't want to bother her at home, especially over something so stupid."

"Regardless, I think we should tell her, give her a head's up about the stuff going around .. she hasn't been at school in days, she's got no idea."

"I don't think there's time," Linds moaned, nodding her head towards the door.

Ah, _shit_.

**(Katrina)**

"I want a paper on Glossolalia by next class - that gives you _all_ weekend, stop moaning."

Ryan laughed, shaking his head, and the class began packing away their supplies, textbooks and notebooks. Beside me, Heather smacked her head on the desk exhaustedly and groaned as loud as she could.

"I can't even _spell_ Glassa-hoppa-labia," she whined.

"Glossolalia," I corrected. "Nevermind spell it, you should probably learn how to say it first, Tad."

"Glossy-Kleptomania? Grass-a-mania? Glue-so-nebula?"

"_The_ dumbest broad I've ever met," I sighed, crushing my papers back into my book bag. "I'm not writing this essay for you. Not again."

"And what do you mean _again_?" Ryan asked, sauntering over to our table - a short, gangly girl in the front row visibly swooned. Ryan didn't seem to notice.

"She doesn't mean anything," Heather said quickly, looking shiftily between the two of us. "I always write essays myself. I'm thrilled to start this one. Glass-a ... glossy-lab ... glossomania. Fascinating. A real riveting topic."

"Glossolalia," Ryan sighed, but smiled a moment later. "Honestly Tad, I've considered writing out a pronunciation sheet just for you - I had the hardest time marking your last assignment, nearly had a breakdown."

"What was the matter with my paper on the Airplane Pretzel Worms?" she asked innocently.

"Well, if by 'Airplane Pretzel Worms' you meant Alpine Tatzelvorm from Bavaria, nothing," he said. "It took me nearly an hour to try and figure out what you were talking about."

As Heather pouted, I gave Ryan an encouraging little pat on the back.

"It was a good class today," I assured him, looking at the still nearly packed room around us. People were chattering quietly, shooting glances over their shoulder and up to Ryan. "See? People are still talking about it."

"I don't know if they're talking about the lesson," he said, frowning slightly. "You notice they've been nattering **all** day? Non stop. In the hallways, before and after class - I had to shush a couple of them during my lesson."

"Football game coming up?" I wondered.

Ryan shook his head. "No, can't be .. season already ended."

"Did someone die?" I asked.

"No .." Ryan looked quickly down at his pants and back up. "My fly's done up."

"There'd be a lot more squealish giggling if it wasn't," I assured him.

He rolled his eyes. "You know anything that's happening, Tad?"

But Heather didn't seem to hear him - she was staring blankly at a group of people about ten feet away from her. Her usual lanking body was pulled tight and stiff, her face oddly puzzled and contrived.

"Tad?" I said, tapping her shoulder. "Earth to Heather?"

But she didn't seem to hear me - she moved away from Ryan and I and towards the group of students nearest her. I didn't know any of their names, only recognized them from being in the same class - but they were all talking in the same hushed voices as the rest of the students milling about. Now that I looked ... it was like they were all waiting for Ryan. Each group kept peering nervously over at the two of us.

"Ryan?" Heather said quietly a moment later, looking over her shoulder - her eyes were wide with concern. "You better c'mere ... "

Exchanging puzzled glances, Ryan and I moved swiftly over to the group of students Heather'd hoarded in on. Three girls, probably no older than twenty two, and two small, awkward, pimply looking guys I didn't even recognize from the class. Tag-a-longs, maybe?

"What's up?" Ryan asked Heather, smiling awkwardly at the bright round faces in front of him - one of the girls laughed shrilly and turned a scarlet red.

"They've uh .. they've been hearing some strange rumors," Heather said, nodding toward the larger of the two small, acned boys. "Around the school. Tell 'em."

The young boy gawked at Heather, looked in terror at Ryan, then me, then back to his friends. Apparently he'd never been spoken to directly before - nevermind by a pretty girl like Tad. In fact, I had the distinct impression the only woman he'd ever had contact with was his own mother. Yikes.

"I uh .. well, we've all been hearing rumors," he stammered, looking at his small group for support - they offered him none.

The rest of the people who'd been milling about the classroom had all fallen silent, staring over at our small group in the corner of the room. No one breathed - a cell phone was beeping, but no one seemed to notice. I stared at the faces lined around the room. They were all still, silent - intrigued.

"Rumors about what?" Ryan asked, looking sternly at the boy in front of him.

"About .. a-about that girl," the boy said. "Harlow Vincent, the volleyball Captain."

Ryan's face paled, but the look of stern disapproval didn't leave his face. "What about her?"

"There's been rumors that she's ... well, that she's, y'know," he said, then raised his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers around his head.

"No, we don't know," Heather snapped, looking grumpily down the bridge of her nose at him - although taller than Tad herself, the boy cowered under her glare.

"Can't say I know what you mean," Ryan said levelly. "Please, explain."

"Well we heard, y'know," the boy stuttered, looking once more for some kind of help from his pals.

One girl seemed to feel a jolt of bravery, and stepped forward a little - the acne boy fell back, looking entirely relieved to have been freed of his awkward, unwanted spokesman position. The girl looked at Ryan, red hair tangled and flyaway, but she stood tall, speaking loud enough for everyone in the room to hear her.

"Well, we heard she was a psychic," she said, drawing herself up to her full height - which at barely over five feet, wasn't very impressive. "People have been talking. They said she was overheard at a Paranormal Activity conference in New York or something talking about how she was Psychic."

Oh _shit_.

"Oh really," Ryan said, his voice remarkably calm for someone who I could tell was inwardly panicking. "And who'd you hear that from?"

"Doesn't really matter," the girl said blandly. "It's a rumor. No one knows where it started."

"I guess that's true," Ryan said slowly, looking casually over at the fifty sets of eyes staring intently at him - only a couple were abashed enough to turn away.

"So, is it true?" the girl asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Is Harlow like .. a psychic?"

Ryan seemed to weigh his answer very carefully, but not without casting the darkest, most intense look of deepest loathing I'd ever seen at the small girl in front of him - the look could've rivaled one of Sophie Kapor's. The girl was taken aback, her cheeks burning a vivid red.

"To be frank, I don't know much about this Harlow girl," Ryan said easily, walking back to his desk. "This is the first I've heard of it, and I imagine if there _were _any so-called 'Psychics' in the school, this would be the first place they'd stop."

"You don't _know_ her? But, like .. everyone thought you were dating her," a tall girl in the back of the room piped up, and there were a few scarce nods in agreement from around the class. "Harlow Vincent? Everyone kind of thought you were together."

Ryan sniffed haughtily, snapping his bag shut and grabbing a file of folders from his desk. "What, are we not all college students? Have we not been taught to take every piece of questionable information we receive with a grain of salt? A rumor is just that - gossip. A claim with no proven accuracy, from no known reliable source. I imagine this poor Harlow gal is just on the receiving end of a particularly jealous and equally pathetic little girl who has nothing better to do than spread lies all over campus about people she clearly doesn't even know."

It might have just been my eyes deceiving me, but I swear I saw Ryan's gaze fall on a very pink and very teary eyed Denise Howell, who stood awkwardly with a group of her little followers. Her ears were glowing, and she'd unknowingly dropped a small handful of looseleaf all over the floor.

"But, people are saying they _saw _Harlow - "

"That's enough," Ryan said, and his voice was filled with an anger I don't remember ever hearing before. "You were dismissed nearly five minutes ago - I'm sure you all have something better to do on a Friday night than sit around here and gossip about people you don't even know."

Ryan moved swiftly from behind the desk, and the remaining students in the class looked around awkwardly, and all ducked out of the classroom, heads bowed in guilt. Heather's face was white, eyes round with worry - I couldn't imagine the fear that was undoubtedly etched onto mine. Ryan slowed to a brief halt next to Tad and I, and looked very seriously between the two of us.

"You hear anything else about this, brush it off," he said shortly, his voice quiet but eyes alert. "I don't know how exactly this got out, but I have a pretty good theory. I'm going to get Harlow, I'll call you guys tomorrow."

Without giving us a chance to reply, Ryan tucked his file under his arm, and swept away from us, towards the large oak doors of the classroom. Before disappearing out of them, he slowed down and stared darkly at Denise and her group of girls, all of whom were still rooted to the spot.

"Pick up your papers," he said coldly, jaw set with fury. He motioned to the pile of looseleaf scattered by her feet. "You speak enough filth as is, I don't need you leaving your dirt in my classroom as well."

And as he swept out of the room, I couldn't help the tremendous feeling of satisfaction as Denise Howell burst into tears in front of me. It almost made up for the heavy weight of fear that had embedded itself in the pit of my stomach.

"How does he know it was her?" Heather asked, looking almost tearfully over at their little group - Denise was sobbing onto a pale, blondes shoulder.

"Who else was at the Paranormal State convention on Monday?" I said angrily.

"But .. how could she do that to her," Heather said quietly, the normal bubble of joy in her voice reduced to something between a moan and a growl. "Harlow's never done anything to her, how could she ... "

"She's Denise," I said furiously, the balling of Howell easing the sick feeling only a bit. "I wouldn't put anything past her."

"Harlow's going to be beside herself," Tad said softly. "This .. this was the one thing she never wanted. This was her one secret."

"I don't know if it was her only one," I sighed. "But it was the most important one."

**(Harlow)**

How strange it was, to be back in these halls!

I'm aware it had only been what, like ... not even a week? But it felt like I'd been away for years. University, as much as I bitched and moaned about it, was kind of like a home to me. For years, I'd been shuttled back and forth, here and there between a million different schools. I was never around long enough to settle in. But Penn State? I'd been here going on five years now - the familiarity of the pictures on the wall. The gleaming trophies in the cabinets. The neon 'Coffee House' advertisements taped everywhere. Ahhhh, it was home.

The halls were empty as I made my way down to the auditorium. It was strange having it so quiet in here. Usually the blaring of headphones, loud chatter of little skankys, the booming voices of the football players. Today, all I could hear was the soft padding of my shoes and the almighty, disgusting sniffles coming from my head.

I jogged down the small flight of stairs, and headed to the big, beige auditorium doors. I'd forgotten to tell Sophie I was coming down for practice - surely she'd be more relieved then anything. As much as I loved the girl, my _God_ - she was **the most **brutal coach when she was all by herself. Couldn't blame her though. With great power comes great responsibility - and great _stress_. Blah.

I bumped the door lightly with my shoulder and it flung open - but to my surprise, there was hardly anyone inside.

The nets weren't set up. There were no girls running laps around the gym. There wasn't that pleasantly familiar squeak of running shoes on the waxed hardwood. There was just silence.

In the center of the gym, school bag and volleyball in hand, stood Sophie. She peered over at the door, face blank and eyes narrowed - how lovely to see her, always just the brightest ray of sunshine.

To her right, near the bleachers, were a handful of the team. Kimmy and Lindsey, I was pleased to see. Natalie, Ashlee, not so much. Jess stood a pace or two behind the rest of them, staring at me with her big, doe-like eyes. None of them, to my surprise, were smiling.

"What, I miss one practice and the world falls apart?" I asked, sniffling.

I'm sure I looked great - greasy top knot, watery eyes, runny, beet red nose.

"Practice was .. it was canceled," Kimmy said quietly, as I made my way over to the small group.

I frowned and looked over at Sophie, who was looking at me with the most peculiar stare. It was like I was some random girl that had just stumbled upon their practice - it was a look that you'd give someone you'd never really met before.

"What, did everyone no show?" I asked, looking between her and the rest of the girls.

"Oh, we showed," Ashlee said, and I noticed for the first time the angry - and slightly fearful - look on her face. "Sophie decided it would be better to just call it a night, though."

I looked over, trying to find a reason in my best friend's face. It was still blank, still frozen. Still puzzled.

"Surely it's not because I wasn't here," I said tentatively. "I'm sorry, I was going to call but I just .. I kinda decided last minute to show up."

"It's okay, Harlow," Lindsey said quietly, and I noticed she too had a strange, almost scared expression on her normally easygoing face.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, and I could feel my heart pounding painfully against my chest - had something happened to one of the girls?

"Everything's fine," Kimmy said reassuringly, attempting a smile. "It's fine, really."

"How can you just stand there and lie to her face?" Ashlee asked, rounding on Kimmy - Ashlee'd never been a nice girl, but she'd never lowered herself to this cold, almost _brutal_ confrontation before.

"Hey, hey," I said, raising my hands cautiously. "Take it easy, bud ... is there something you need to tell me?"

"**We** need to tell _you_?" Ashlee asked, laughing bitterly. "No. But maybe there's something _you'd_ like to tell **us**."

Was I missing something?

I shook my head slowly, eyes narrowed. "Tell _you_ guys something? What would I possibly need to tell you?"

"Oh, you know," Sophie said quietly, eyes searching my own - there was something different about her face today. Something colder. Something _meaner_.

"I don't," I said earnestly, shaking my head. "What .. what would I possibly need to tell you?"

Sophie laughed, but it was humorless - bitter and biting, like a cold wind.

"What would you possibly need to tell us? Oh, you know. Maybe that you're a _freak_."

"Sophie," Kimmy moaned, shaking her head.

"I'm a _what?_" I said quietly, but there was an uncomfortable knot twisting in the pit of my stomach.

"A freak," she repeated, stepping a little bit closer yet. "Oh, wait - my apologies. Not a _freak_. A **psychic**. That's what you call yourself, right?"

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note:**

Awwe, and the shit hits the fan for our poor Harlow-Bear. :( Poor gal!

But in happier news, did you see how quickly I updated? APPLUAD ME, I WORKED HARD! Well .. sort of :D I've taken to bringing my laptop to work with me, so when it's dead I can just type away on the story, hopefully get chapters all out before I get a barrage of hate PM's from my faithful, albeit sort of terrifying reviewers and readers :D NOW, to you lovely reviewers - I've never seen a collection of so many long-ass reviews before! I am shocked, thrilled and absolutely flattered! Now, onto my thank yous!

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction:** Oh MAN, can we BOTH shank Denise? She's MY character and I HAAAAAATE her. Hate isn't even the word. Like, I'm considering finding a way to kill her off in a truly horrific way, but that really wouldn't do anything for the plot. It would just make us feel better, sadly. You lova burger me? I LOVA BURGER YEWWWW MORE, although I'm frankly unsure of what that means. It sounds lovely and tasty and beefy, though, so I'll take it as a compliment and hold you dear in my heart for the rest of time!

**xSyndarinx:** EEEEEEEEEEEE your review made me blush so furiously I looked like a tomato for the better part of the evening! For you, I will write for the rest of my life. Everyday. And they will be stories about you and I being soulmates. THey'll be romantic dramadys, I think. And I'll have them published as "The Chronicles of Syndarin and Ella - a Match Made In Fandom". Beautiful, is it not? Thank you for the review, you wonderful wonderful person! (L) xoxoxo

**:** The fact that you said 'sweet balls of thunder' makes me so, unfathomably, hysterically happy, you actually don't even know. Your review brought on a typhoon of emotions - I laughed, I squealed, I wept. You're so wonderful. Let's hold hands and be friends forever and ever and ever. Yes? Yes. Thank you for the review!

**RoselynnNoelle:** A PROTRUDING DISK IN YOUR BACK? Why do I have this terrible mental image of a Quasimodo-esque figure hunching over a laptop in a flowery canopy bed? What happened, are you alright! My sweet sweet soul sister, you take it easy! Drink a lot of tea, dream a lot of dreams, and pop even more Valium and Oxy. This is the recipe for healing (or disaster, I don't know, I write stories, I'm not a doctor :( ). Your lovely, wonderful, heart-warming review made my week bright as a sun, and even sparklier than a douchebag vampire! Feel better, stay safe, be with my always. (L)

**akahitoha:** Denise also scares the shit out of me. Boogeymen? Bring it on. Werewolves? Let's do it, suckas. Denise Howell? BAHHHHHHHHHHH. We are united in our terror and wishings of pigeon shat on her head. Thank YOU for thanking ME for being a lovely joyful person! The fact is, I'm only a lovely joyful person because beautiful wonderful fantastic people like you make me feel that way! You're most welcome for writing this story, but thank YOU even more for reading it! If I could send you a million bricks of gold and silver, I would. But I don't know where to find them. So for now, take this virtual cookies - it was made with love, chocolate chips and tears of joy. THANK YOU!

**silentC:** I also hope Sophie warms up to Ryan, although since I wrote the thing, I know exactly how this thing is gonna pan out. BUT YESSSSS, love the idea of whack-a-Denise. You're brilliant. Let's co-write a story called 'Whack-A-Denise' and it'll just be about us hitting this fictional character on the head with a mallet. INSTANT smash (literally :D). I will absolutely send you the plotting device I use for chapters! It's all in my head right now but I think writing it out would be handy for both you and I, so expect a message in the next few days! Thank you for all you rlovely FF support, you truly brightened up my week with your 800 page review (like, maybe it wasn't that long, but ... it was AMAZING). I adore you, please be my one true love from now until the end of time, yes? xo

**ferret assassin nin: **OH, HELLO MY LOVELY! ooooh you're a sergey fan, are you! sergey won't ve getting any love in this fic for quite a while, so i cordially invite you into my story to make sergey feel loved and wanted for all the rest of eternity! y'know - just like you make MEEEE feel loved to bits and pieces with every review you leave me! you are an amazing, wonderful, unforgettable person and i simply adore you for being one of the funniest reviewers i've ever had for any story EVER. i got your PM, and i shall start reading your story asap!

**heyymelx3: **DUUUUUUUDE, i would love love love to go to penn state but that's so ridiculously far from where i live :/ i think i'm just going to the local uni, which is kinda depressing since it means i'm gonna be stuck in this town for a minimum of five more years. blhahfhsfasfs. so while i sit and fume in my hometown, i expect constant updates on the buell watch! i feel like we should start a 'Buell Blog' or something. keep the other obsessive nutjobs out there updated on the whereabouts of the fiiiiiiine mr. buell. agreed? NOW, what's this about coworker frustrations? whose ass am i kicking for you? gimme a name, i'll be down there with a mallet asap!

NOW, my beautiful, lovely, adorable reviewers! I must scamper off, I have a mickey of vodka to down and some crazy sick disco music to rock out to. You understand, I'm sure. I WILL UPDATE AGAIN AS SOON AS I POSSIBLY CAN. I love you all, take care of yourselves and have a wonderful rest of the week!

**love, **ellah!


	18. Boobs VS Call Of Duty

**Chapter Seventeen**

Boobs VS. Call Of Duty

**(Lindsey)**

"Uh, sorry - I'm _what_?"

Although the tone was steady and the face skeptical, I was _sure_ that I wasn't the only one who saw the quick flash of horror flare in Harlow's eyes. She smiled, cocking an eyebrow, but the grin didn't reach her eyes. Her hand moved convulsively against her leg, her would-be casual stance stiff and uncomfortable.

Sophie took another step forward, jaw line razor sharp now, eyes alight with something undeniably hostile.

"A psychic, apparently," she said smoothly, bottom lip protruding slightly in mock interest. "The whole school's been buzzing about it."

Next to her, Ashlee's face was alive with malevolence. It made me almost sick to my stomach, seeing the earnest dazzle of thrill light up her face. That _bitch_, I'd kill her myself.

"**I'm** a psychic?" Harlow scoffed, looking uncomfortably over at Kim and I - I tried to smile reassuringly, but I think it came out as more of a grimace. "According to who, exactly?"

"What were their names?" Sophie asked calmly, looking over at Ashlee. "Denise, or something? Bri?"

Whatever color left in Harlow's face drained, and her eyes widened a little in shock. She understood, that much was obvious - but it was _also_ blatantly obvious that she wasn't going down without a fight.

"I don't know either of those girls," she said simply, averting her eyes from the rest of the team.

"And they don't know you," Sophie said, looking back at Harlow. "But they **did** overhear you at some .. 'paranormal convention', or something. When you were in New York, remember? They overheard you talking to some girl."

"I was with you the whole time," Harlow said defiantly, but she was looking almost _pleadingly_ at Sophie's hard, menacing face. "You might not remember me being there, since you were too busy threatening to jump out the window, but I was with you the whole time."

Sophie laughed humorlessly, eyes blank and narrowed in rage. "You weren't, though. What was that girls name? Alana? Alina? Elaine? Something like that .. the other little brat from Foster Care you ran into that night. Kimmy and Linds and I went to find seats - you stayed behind to talk to her."

Harlow's face was emotionless, but her hands were still clenched tightly against her sides. "The Foster Care _brat_ is named Alina. I don't know what this Denise girl thinks she heard, but she clearly misunderstood."

Sophie took another few steps towards Harlow, slinking around in an almost cat-like fashion. Her lips were thin, eyes blazing. When she spoke, it was in a voice of forced calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. It was vehement, her rage dripped off of every word. I stood next to Kimmy, frozen with fear - I'd never heard Sophie like this. She was _always_ either angry or bored, interested or not. Her voice was always a drawl, biting yet friendly. But this? This was not her bored drawl. It was not her angry snarl. It was so far beyond either of those, it was almost ... _inhuman_, in its fury.

"Did she though, Harlow?" Sophie asked quietly.

"Clearly," Lo responded, looking quite frightened at this new, terrifying side to her best friend. "I'm sure I'd know if I were psychic ... "

"Is this why you've been hanging around with Ryan so much?" Soph asked, coming to a stop barely an inch from Harlow. "All this time, I've thought you were with him because you really, _honestly_ liked that weird-ass _fuck_. But now? Why are you with him, Lo? You hoping he'll give you a spot on his little ghost show? You hoping he'll exploit your pretty little face all over television? You hoping he'll _understand_ you?"

Harlow shook her head, jaw clenched. "Sophie - you're not even making sense. I don't understand why you're even upset over this, this ... stupid rumor."

"Why wouldn't you have told me you're a psychic? Hm? We're best friends, right? Did you simply _forget_ to mention it," Sophie asked softly. "Did you think it was unimportant? Or were you worried, is that it? Worried that I'd look at you _just_ like I am now - for a sad, pathetic little **liar**."

"You _honestly_ believe I'm a psychic?" Harlow scoffed, looking in mingled horror and fury at Sophie's cold face. "Really? You'll take the word of some nobody you don't even know over my own?"

"Everyone in the school's talking about it, Harlow," Ashlee said angrily from behind Soph - it was like she was using her as a shield. "Denise was there, she heard you. It's your word against the schools. You _actually_ think you can talk to ghosts? Are you _joking_?"

"Shut up, Ashlee," Kimmy said furiously. "It's a stupid rumor that's floating around, that's all. Why don't you keep your dirty mouth shut!"

"Why would it make a difference if it were true or not?" Harlow said quietly.

We all turned to look at her, and were caught by surprise - she was looking at Sophie, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Sophie stared back, eyes dark and furious. Neither of them seemed to realize there was anyone else in the room. Harlow was breaking down - Sophie was unrelenting in her anger. This wasn't going to end well. You didn't need to be a psychic to figure that much out.

"Because you'd be one of _them_," Sophie said irately. "You'd be a **freak**, just like your little boyfriend. Ghosts don't _exist_, Harlow. There's no such thing as spirits. There's no evidence, there's no proof. You're a psychology major. You deal with the science of the brain _everyday_, you of all people should understand. You're a smart girl, there's no denying that - but it makes me wonder what the _fuck_ is the matter with your brain if you think you can actually 'communicate' with the 'dead'. How can someone studying to counsel people with mental problems do an effective job when they're fuckin' **mental** themselves?"

"I'm not a freak," Harlow said softly, her face filled with such terrific misery that it broke my heart just looking at her.

"So you're not psychic, then?" Sophie asked harshly, looking down her nose at Lo. "Everything Denise 'overheard' is bullshit?"

Harlow said nothing, but stared at Sophie with her bright, teary eyes. She looked at her as if she'd never seen her clearly before now, before _this_ moment. She looked startled, upset. I wasn't even sure she'd heard what Soph had said - there was an unmistakable look of horror and puzzlement in that beautiful face. Sophie stared back, her own stunning face lined with deep disgust. She shook her head, not taking her eyes off of Harlow.

"So you _are_ then," she said quietly. "You're a _psychic_. You know, you better go get your shit checked out, Harlow. Kingston, he's a bit nuts too, isn't he?"

Harlow's face whitened even more than I thought possible, and the misery that had washed over her was replaced with a terrific blaze of fury. She stood a little straighter, stepped a little closer.

"That's completely out of line," she said, her voice stronger now, but her eyes still brimming with tears. "Don't ... don't get my brother involved in this."

"I always wondered," Sophie spat, mock thoughtfulness oozing from every word she spoke. "You come from this sad, pathetic little broken family. You spend the majority of your life in Foster care. You're this weird, freaky little outsider who never had friends, never had a real family - "

"Shut _up_, Sophie!" Jess yelled tearfully.

But Sophie ignored her.

" - and I always thought, _there's got to be something wrong with this chick_," she continued. "But there you were, little Miss Perfect. Top grades. Top player on the team. Ideal student. Perfect friend. After years and years of hanging out with you and talking to you, you had me convinced you were perfectly normal, Harley. That there was nothing in this **world** wrong with you. Clearly, I misjudged you."

Harlow's face was red with rage, but her eyes were sad, deadened. She didn't respond, just stared blankly at Sophie's face, which was twisted in some sort of unimaginable rage.

"Psychic?" Sophie scoffed again, folding her arms across her chest. "So you can talk to ghosts, can you? What else did you forget to mention, Harlow? What _exactly_ did they do to you in Foster care, so many years ago? How terrible it must have been, doing enough damage to make you believe you're some kind of white trash Miss Cleo. How broken is your life, Harlow? How terrible was your childhood? Was it really so horrific that it's made you a borderline schizophrenic, just like your big brother? How sad, Lo. How very _very_ sad."

"I wouldn't trade my childhood for yours in a million years," Harlow said quietly, a single tear dripping down her cheek. "I would rather the life I had, the orphaned, lonesome, pathetic excuse of an existence I lead, than take yours. Nobody knew I existed because I didn't _have_ anyone. You had everyone, every**thing**. And you were _still_ a nobody. So don't talk to me like I'm some piece of shit scum on the bottom of your shoe, Sophie. I'm the same girl I've always been, the person I am right now is the person you've known for four years. It's not fair to treat me like this."

Harlow's words, spoken plainly, and without conviction or the cold and biting cruelty of Sophie's, seemed to do more damage than Soph's entire belittling monologue. Her face whitened, and she stared at Lo, speechless for the first time in ten minutes. Harlow's face was still and hard as stone, but tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks, dampening the front of her hoodie. The two friends - former friends? - stared at each other, hard and unblinking for another minute. They made no noise, said nothing else, but stared - in fear. In anger. In horrible, all-consuming sadness.

Finally, with a shaky sigh, Sophie shook her head and took a step away from Harlow.

"Regardless," she said quietly, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "I'd rather be a nobody then a delusional _freak_. **Any day**."

And she stormed out of the gym without another word.

With a glance over at the silent, unmoving Harlow, Ashlee grabbed Natalie's elbow and yanked her towards the door, both of them shooting slightly terrified but mostly disgusted looks back at Lo. She didn't seem to see them leave - she was staring blankly ahead, hands clamped tightly together in front of her.

"Harlow?" Kimmy said softly, taking a step towards her. "Lo? Are you okay?"

Harlow didn't move. Kimmy peered back at me, eyes narrowed. I shrugged, still a bit scared to move, but most of all, _completely_ unsure of what to do. How did you comfort someone who had just lost their best friend? What did you say to someone who's entire reputation was on the line? How did you fix a problem when the problem was so far beyond you? Were there any words in the world to fix a broken heart? I didn't think so. But I'd try.

"Harlow?" I said, moving closer towards her. "Harlow, sweetie? Are you okay?"

She jumped, and looked over at Kim and I - her eyes were glazed over. She looked at us blindly, nodding.

"I'm fine," she said, voice barely a whisper. "Fine."

"Don't listen to Sophie," Kimmy said, moving towards her and putting an arm comfortingly around her shoulders. "She's such a ... she's .. she's just _horrible_."

"She is," I agreed, grasping Lo's clammy hands in my own. "She's just been in a terrible mood ... don't take what she said to heart, Harley. She's **miserable**. She'll realize how terrible of a beotch she was, she'll apologize."

Harlow said nothing, but continued nodding, the blank expression in her eyes still evident. Jess moved silently towards her, doe eyes round and leaking pearly drops of tears down her pale cheeks.

"You're not a freak," she said quietly, looking very seriously at Lo's empty face. "You're not, Harlow. Don't ... don't listen to her. You're one of the best friends I've ever had, and you didn't deserve that."

Harlow looked at her, wearily. She gave what I assume was an attempt at a smile, but took her hands out of mine a moment later, and shrugged off Kimmy's arm.

"Thanks," she croaked, but seemed to find her voice a second or two later. "Ahem - sorry. Thanks, thank you. I don't mean to be rude, and I apologize if I am - but I'd just ... I'd just like to be alone right now."

Kimmy and I exchanged looks - was that _really_ the best idea?

"Okay," Jess said, looking sternly between Kim and I. "We'll leave you, Harlow. Just call us if you need us, okay?"

She simply nodded, hands folding back together again. Her eyes glazed over once more, and she stared blankly at the opposite wall. There really _wasn't_ anything we could do for her. She wanted silence, she wanted solitude. Could anyone blame her? The three of us slung our bags over our shoulders, giving her a few last pats on the back and arm. She didn't seem to notice.

We trudged out of the gym silently, not daring to look at one another. The silence that followed us out of the auditorium was terrible, but the worst of it?

The faint, shaky sob that echoed behind us as the door shut with a _snap_.

**(Ryan)**

I half walked, half ran down the long hallway in front of me.

I'd made it to the sports auditorium in record time, passing barely anyone - the school was near empty. Was that really such a big surprise, though? It was Friday night, after all. There were parties to go to. Bars to hop. Clubs to crash. No self-respecting college student would still be on campus on a Friday night, whether it was exam time or not.

What was _my_ Friday evening looking like? Why, thanks for asking! Frankly, up until about fifteen minutes ago, it was going to consist of eating lemon heads and drinking beer whilst playing some Halo with Serge in our dimly lit nerd cave. Dimly lit nerd cave as in our living room. Who needs strip clubs? Pfft, not _me_. Who wanted boobs when they could have a five hour Call Of Duty marathon with their best, super foreign friend?

Right? Am I right? No?

Ahhh. Maybe this is why I was a virgin until I was twenty. I see.

My night, however, was not shaping up to be a nerdfest COD marathon. Not at all. Right now, my mind was far too preoccupied with other things - things more important than what video game I was going to beat Sergey at that evening.

My thoughts were on Harlow.

I'd spoken to her several times, either over text or on the phone, since we'd gotten home from New York. She had what sounded like one of the gnarliest colds known to man - she'd been up in bed for days now. She'd missed half a week of classes, and even more surprisingly, her Wednesday night volleyball practice. Poor girl. I'd offered to come and hang out with her for a bit, but after she went into a two minute coughing spazz on the phone, I decided against it.

I adored her, you must know that by now. But there wasn't much I could do for her while her head was buried in her toilet, y'know?

We'd chatted briefly today, only about five minutes before I had to run to one of my classes. She'd asked how I was, what I was up to tonight, how the classes were going. Great, nothing much, as well as they could be. I'd asked how she was feeling, what she was up to tonight, had she taken her flu medication. Terrible, not a lot, every hour on the hour. At some point during that phone call, she had let slip that she was considering going to volleyball practice tonight. Her excuse was something like;

"I need the fresh air and the exercise, sitting around in my apartment isn't going to speed up my recovery."

I'd argued with her, of course, but she was quite adamant. And really, lets face it - when it comes to Harlow, I don't have the balls to stand up to her. She's too adorable, even at her **most** phlegmy and I'm much to clingy and needy to try and even _attempt_ to convince her otherwise. And I guess I couldn't argue ... she knew what was best for her body. Her glorious, chiseled, tanned to perfection body. _Ughhhh oh my lanta, __**so**__ good_. Uhm - oh, sorry. Anyways. It was because of that short, five minute phone call earlier today that helped me figure out where she was.

Volleyball practice was always held in the Hausman's Auditorium, which was on the other fuckin' end of Campus from the PRS building. It was where I knew she'd be.

I'd heard no rumors, nothing, about her for the last three days. It must've just gotten out this morning, or I'm sure something would've come to my attention. The gossip in Penn State was almost always about football players. _I heard they've been signed to blah blah_, or _I heard he's dating Kirsten Dunst_, or ... or, whatever else stupid, high school-esque rumors they could come up with. The gossip in this school was like a particularly boring rollercoaster - it usually started slow, took a while to gain some speed. It had a bit of surge in popularity, but then fizzled out after a couple days.

This rumor, however, had spread like wildfire.

But that comes as no surprise, does it? Harlow, Captain of the Penn State Volleyball team. One of the most well-known, well-liked, most beautiful girls on campus. Never anything negative about her, no terrible drunken bar stories, no tales of her promiscuity. Just a nice, simple girl, who did no one wrong, was good-natured, was sweet. But then all of a sudden, tales and rumors and stories of her being a psychic? Was she crazy? Was everyone else? What other secrets had she been hiding? Was she lying? Was she telling the truth? Was this some sad cry for attention? She must've been nuts.

When I started PRS, I'd been on the receiving end of some pretty terrible backlash. I knew the feeling. All too well, I knew. And now Harlow - sweet, innocent, warm-hearted Harlow - was going to be on the receiving end of it. It just didn't seem fair, did it?

I took the stairs, two at a time, and ended up in the last narrow corridor leading to the auditorium. My mind was going a mile a minute - was she okay? Had she even heard the rumors? Maybe she was okay with it .. maybe she was pretending like it was all a big joke? I wouldn't know until I saw her.

There was the sound of light footsteps coming from ahead of me. I squinted, looking down the darkened hall - a slight frame, a female. Harlow?

No. _Sophie_.

Her eyes were narrowed, and the closer she came, the angrier I saw they were. The blue was icy, the sharp, beautiful face hollowed with fury. Her golden blonde hair was up so tightly, it pulled her face back, giving her an even more menacing appearance. For such a thin, willowy girl, she sure did scare the crap out of me.

"Sophie?" I said, meeting her halfway down the hallway. "I'm glad I found you - Harlow, is she - "

"In the auditorium," she replied, her voice crisp and cold.

I remember once, it seemed like forever ago now, when Harlow and I were walking back from the field the night of the Kegger. I remember seeing her and Sophie standing next to each other, and marveling at the similarities between them. I remember thinking how they looked just like sisters, so alike in their differences it was staggering. But now, I realized I couldn't have been more wrong.

Harlow never could've looked like this, even if she'd tried, she would never have been able to look even a third this menacing. Sophie's face, thin like Harlow's, was full of rage. Every feature, the ones I'd found so similar to Lo's, was angry. Enraged. Harlow's beauty was easy. It was delicate, soft. Elegant and entirely symmetrical in it's perfection. Sophie's looks were sharp as a knife. Chiseled down to the bones of her cheeks. Harsh, calculating - recklessly beautiful. Sophie would never have Harlow's flawless, sweet and unfathomably innocent beauty. Just as Harlow would never have Sophie's ragged, stone smooth and mean allure. Never.

"Is she alright?" I asked cautiously, taking a half step back away from Sophie - her eyes bore into my own, alight with terrific fury.

"Why wouldn't she be," Sophie responded softly, but even in a whisper her voice carried a dangerous edge.

"Oh, I .. I don't know," I stuttered. "I just .. have been hearing things around the school .. strange things."

"Fascinating," she replied acidly. "Now get the _fuck_ out of my way."

And with strength that someone as tiny as her couldn't possibly have possessed, she shoved me forcefully out of the way, storming down the hallway and disappearing around the corner.

I stared blankly after her, listening as her footsteps faded into silence. What. A. _Bitch_.

It's not like I wasn't used to it. Especially at the beginning of the Society, people looked at me like I was a piece of gum on the bottom of their shoe. They looked at me like I was a walking, talking man of shit. But now, to be shoved against a wall by a girl I barely knew - well, this was a bit of a surprise, truth be told.

I flew down the rest of the hallway, into the large foyer at the end of it. The auditorium doors were shut, but I heard nothing inside - no padding of sneakers against the waxed floors. No yells, no bouncing of volleyballs. Nothing. I had half a mind to turn around and walk back to my office.

But something in my mind was screaming to go in.

I walked, tentatively, but then more confidently towards the large, metal doors and pushed - I was right. There was definitely no practice going on here. But there _was_ a person still inside.

Harlow.

She didn't seem to hear the doors open. She was standing quite still, looking quite pale, near the back bleachers of the gym. I didn't move, just stared. She was looking blankly at the wall opposite. Her hands were clasped in front of her, hair tied up in a knot on the top of her head. Her always thin frame seemed more frail today, bonier. Her jawline sharper than it had ever been. I took a couple of steps into the gym, letting the doors snap shut behind me - she still didn't seem to hear.

"Harlow?" I called quietly, walking very slowly towards her.

Her brow furrowed, but she didn't look over at me.

"Harlow," I said again, this time moving a little quicker towards her.

Her eyes closed, and she took a couple steps back, sinking down onto the bleachers. The closer I got, the worse I felt - her eyes were bright but watery. Glazed over. Her cheeks were stained with tears. She was very obviously still under the weather, her face pale and heavy bags under her eyes. But that wasn't what struck me - she looked absolutely _miserable_.

"Harlow," I said once more, sinking down onto the seat next to her. "Lo .. are you alright?"

She turned to me, looking me dead in the eyes. There was something so dark, so blank about them. The emeralds were no longer dazzling - they were haunted.

"Everyone knows," she said hoarsely, looking sincerely perplexed. "Everyone. I tried to hide it ... I don't understand."

"It'll blow over," I assured her, placing my hand over her own and giving a light squeeze - it was sickeningly clammy. "Someone heard some ridiculous rumor, they spread it around. You know these things - they all blow over in the end."

"But someone told," she said, making no effort to squeeze back. "Someone who knew, they told."

"I know what you're thinking," I said softly. "But it wasn't me, Lo. It wasn't - "

"I know," she whispered, looking away and back across the gym. "I know. It was that girl. The one who looks kind of like a frog. Diane, or Elise or something."

"Denise," I said, and I felt a swell of fury bubble in the pit of my stomach. "Denise Howell. Apparently she overheard you talking to someone at the convention. I don't know - maybe it was us? Maybe she heard - "

But Harlow shook her head, cutting me off. "No. It wasn't any of you. It was this girl, Alina. I lived with her for a bit when I was fifteen. She knew about it, about _me_. She assumed that's why I was there, at the convention. Denise - she must've been listening in. Or overheard us, or something. I didn't say I was psychic, but .. but it was heavily implied in our conversation."

"Ahhh," I said quietly, following Harlow's gaze towards the wall. "She's nosey. She'd have eaten that whole thing up .. "

Harlow nodded, but said nothing else.

We sat in silence for what felt like almost an hour - but in actuality, probably wasn't even more than five minutes. I was terrified to say anything. Harlow, I think, didn't know what **to** say. It was all over her face - her eyes were still dull and lifeless, but her face was a mess of emotions. Terror. Rage. Misery. Nausea.

"Harlow," I said softly, breaking the dead silence in the air. "You don't look good ... you're so pale, and you feel as cold as ice. I'm going to take you home, okay?"

She said nothing again, but gulped and closed her eyes.

"I'll stay here as long as you want me to, but I don't want you driving home, okay?" I said timidly. "Not the way you're - "

"I had it all," she said quietly, looking blankly still at the wall. "I had everything. I had such great friends. My marks were good. My team .. oh, my _team_. The best this school's had in years. I was happy."

"You've still got all of that," I said, wrapping an arm around her slight shoulders. "Don't talk like that, Lo. You've still got all of this. I promise, it'll all blow over."

"She called me a freak," she choked.

"Who did?"

"Sophie. _My_ Sophie. She called me a freak."

I said nothing, but I fumed.

"The whole school thinks I'm nuts," she said, and I saw fat tears roll down her pallid cheeks. "What am I going to do? Everyone th-thinks I'm a _freak_!"

And she began to sob.

Not sniffling, timid, weeping. But sobbing. She shook violently, clinging on to my jacket with both hands. She gasped for breath, her face nuzzled against my shoulder. All I could do, all anyone I think could do, was sit here. Just sit. And hold her, let her cry. Let her get it all out. Let her wail and bawl until she couldn't anymore. How long we sat there, I have no idea. But by the time I was able to get her to stand up and come with me, the moon had already risen to it's highest point in the sky, and the stars were already twinkling benignly above us. She walked slowly, clutching my waist with her arm. Her face was swollen, damp with tears, nose red and raw.

"I'm a mess," she said softly, pawing the tears away from her cheeks.

"You're beautiful," I assured her, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered, and I saw tears brim once more.

"You're going to go home," I said quietly. "I'm going to bring you up to bed. I'm going to tuck you in. And you're going to sleep, Harlow. You're sick and you're tired and you need to just _forget_, for a while. Okay?"

She nodded, and we stepped out into the student parking lot. Our cars were the only ones left.

"My car," she said softly. "I can't .. I can drive, Ryan. I'm fine."

"You can't even see where you're walking," I pointed out, as I steered her away from a pothole. "I'll drive you home, okay? We'll come back tomorrow and pick up your car, I promise. Right now, I just need to get you home."

"Will you stay?" she asked.

"Stay? Oh, I don't know - I don't want to intrude, Harlow - "

"You wouldn't," she said, and peered up at me.

Her eyes were puffy and still leaking great tears down her cheeks. Even in her sick, puffiness, I felt my heart skip a beat - she was still beautiful. Beautiful to me.

"Okay," I said, with a nod. "I'll stay."

"I just don't want to be alone," she said softly, walking a little more confidently now.

"I'll be there as long as you need me to be," I said in earnest.

She nodded, and I felt her cool, slightly damp hand reach up and give mine a little squeeze.

"Thank you."

And that, those two words, from then until the time I got her up into her bed, were all she said. The pain she was feeling - the embarrassment, the horror, the misery. It floated through the air the entire way home. The unspoken words, the silence - it was worse than the actual crying. That beautiful face, pale and twisted and torn by her anxiety, by her terror. The ease and beauty had been ripped away, been replaced with agony. She was alone in her heartache.

But the second I steered her into her bedroom, let her head hit that pillow - all that pain, it disappeared.

Her face was calm once more.

**(Chip)**

_"It's coming."_

_His face was so familiar ... I'd seen it before, I had to have seen it before. He stared at me, the small boy. His dark brown hair flyaway, mussed up in a perfectly windswept way. His skin was darker, olive. What a beautiful boy, a handsome one - a boy like this, the apple of any woman's eye._

_"What's coming?" I asked him, trying to reach out and touch his shoulder - he was too far away, just out of my grasp._

_"Tell her," he said again, this time his voice foggy, distant - like he was talking through a long tunnel. "Tell her, warn her - it's coming."_

_I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders. "Tell who, son? Who?"_

_"Tell .. her ... please, tell her!"_

_His voice was even further away now, although he was just as close to me as he'd been before. He was panicked, his dazzling eyes wide and terrified._

_"Tell who, tell - oh, oh!"_

_His face was bloating up - the olive tone losing color, becoming white, white, __**white**__. Tinged with blue. The veins bulging underneath. His whole body, swelling and losing color. Blue ran up and down his skin, pulsating. His lips spread in a scream, a scream that didn't come._

_The lips shriveled, the pink fading to white, then brightening to blue, then to purple. _

_He screamed and screamed, but there was only silence, terrible, stomach-churning silence - his fattening hands pulled at his hair, yanking great chunks out._

_I couldn't move, I was paralyzed with fear._

_His skin fell in great pieces, wiped away into the air. He was disintegrating, right before my eyes - huge strips of flesh, gone and gone until he was nothing, just bones, just mangled skin. But his eyes - his eyes stared without seeing, with the fear still sunken in their depths._

_"Tell who!" I shouted at him, stretching as far as I could, still just too far to reach him. "Tell who! What's coming!"_

_His eyes rolled up, up and away, the sockets of the skull now black - the brilliant green of his pupils, all that was left of him - disappeared into his skull._

_I screamed._

"**CHRIST**!"

I was awake, oh Lord!

"Sweet Jesus," I muttered, reaching blindly at my side table for my glasses. "Lord Almighty, Sweet Mother Mary!"

I found them, shoved them roughly onto my face. I put a hand to my forehead - slicked with cold sweat. I was shaking, my whole body. Yikes - what a _nightmare_!

I peered over at the clock - 3:32 AM. Too early to wake up.

I flopped back down, head nestled comfortably in my dampened pillows. The soft ticking of my alarm clock and the faint wail of sirens in the distance. There was no noise, no distractions - no_body_ around. I tried to slow my frantic heart. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. In. _Out_. In. _Out._ In. _Out._

My heart slowed, my breathing regular once again. I hadn't had a nightmare like that in nearly a decade. But what was it about? I strained my mind, willing it to think back, to remember.

A boy. A boy swelling up, falling apart. Turning from beautiful to bones, in seconds. What did he look like? I don't know .. I couldn't remember. Handsome, I recall that. Familiar. But why was he familiar? The pieces were all there, scattered in my brain. I reached out, trying to collect all the bits, but they were zooming away faster than I could grasp. He kept saying something. _It's coming, tell her_. Tell who? What was coming? What did that mean?

I sighed, yanking my blankets up to my chin, eyes heavy once more. The puzzle of that dream, it was still only half put together. There were still gaping holes left, pieces I needed to find, to remember, to connect. But I was too _tired_. I couldn't think, I couldn't remember. Not right now. I needed to sleep.

"Tomorrow," I muttered, eyes heavy. "Tomorrow."

And as the dark blanket of sleep washed over me once more, one little piece of that puzzle floated through my mind;

Green.

Green what?

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'd know.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

HI HI HI HI. Sorry about the long time between updates, I had super duper nasty yucky writers block for half of this chapter. BLAH. Anyways! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THE PARANORMAL STATE BOARDS? I went to check out some updates a couple days ago and BAM - they're gone? I've sent them an email, but no response yet ... I urge everyone here to do the same. There are so many wonderful, amazing authors (and even more amazing readers!) that love that board. It's not fair that it was taken down. :( Why couldn't they have gotten rid of the Twilight board? Hmph. Oop - sorry! No offense to those who love themselves a little Edward and Bella.

Also, I urge you to story alert this little ficcy o' mine. And I'm not saying that to be all lame and over-confident or whateva else, it's simply because since the PS boards are down, I've had to move this to Misc. TV Shows or something, and there's like 5000 plus stories on this board alone ... you will never ever ever find it, or you'll spend 15 minutes in a blind rage searching through pages and pages of updates.

That was sad. I am sad. But not sad for long. Because of you amazing reveiwers! ON TO MY THANK YOU'S.

**chicajenny:** THANK YOU AGAIN! without you, i would've been sitting on my but staring blankly at the computer screen trying to figure out how to save my story. you. are. amazing. thank you thank you!

**WinchesterAngel3389:** YOU'RE BACK! my life was simply not complete without you :( unfortunately, i'm thinkin' your hate for sophie is only going to grow for the next couple chapters ... i try not to make people irate when they read my stuff, my apologies! BUT, all that matters is you're back, you beautiful reader/reviewer, and i missed you and adore you!

**PSUPRS:** YOU'RE SICK? i'm sending over an imaginary basket of fruit and muffins and soooo much wine. i hope you're feeling better! and i'm so glad you're back. you stop being sick, and then let's go to disneyland and be friends forever and ever. OKAYDEALZ.

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction:** YES, BEAUTIFUL REVIEW! unfortunately, you're gonna have an even more severe hate-on for sophie in the coming chapters ... as for denise, i know she's not real, but let's make a lifesize doll of her and just throw mallets at her head, deal? you're wonderful, i love you more than i love flowers and sunshine, and thank you for the review!

**silentC:** THE MOST AMAZING LONG ASS REVIEW EVER, oh my LANTA do i love you! i am so terribly sorry to bring up bad memories of high school! but i remember chicks like that in my school too :( it's amazing how fast people can turn on you, as i've realized. i've had it happen, seen it happen, and it suuuuuucks. i think it was important to do it though, because you gotta have serious drama in every story right? but iagree with you. whack-a-denise is now sawed off shotgun in a woods denise. you and i, we're gonna DESTROY this fictional character, RAHHHHH. *puts on hunting clothes and lights a cigar*. i'm ready. you better tell me when you get your new story up! regardless of what kinda story, i would lovelovelove to read it! and responding to reviews is the least i can do, you all take your time to comment on my story, and you will neverevereverever know how much it's appreciated! I WUV YOU MORE, let's get married.

**kcollins720:** TWO REVIEWS, from my wonderful beautiful most loyal lovebug! your reviews never fail to make me smile and giggle and roll around in happy little balls! i adore you!

**akahitoha:** HELLO MY LITTLE CHERRY BLOSSOM, your review was so enthusiastic and wonderful it made me grin from ear to ear! and then i got stuck like that and people were scared ... BUT IT DIDN'T TAKE AWAY FROM YOUR BEAUITFUL REVIEW. i adore you. i love you. i want to be friends with you forever. i don't know if i tell you that enough, but i should. THANK YOU, DOLL!

You all simply make my life! I love and respect and adore all of you, and I could never ever ever thank you guys enough for the wonderful reviews I get :)

Now, on a side note, I was considering putting up a linky to my website thinger. It's actually just a big plotting device thinger for me, where I store all my information on the story in case my laptop goes kaput, but it's got photos and biographies and such on all the characters in the story! I personally hate seeing pictures of people in FanFics, because I like to make my own mental image of what they look like, but for those interested, lemme know! There's no spoilers on the site, but I have added little notes and stuff that might be helpful little hints :p

HAVE A GREAT WEEK, MY LOVELY READERS! Take care!

**love;** ellah!


	19. Not KILL Her, Just Shoot Her Nipples Off

**Chapter Eighteen**

Not _Kill_ Her, Just Shoot Off Her Nipples

**(Harlow)**

"Come on, Lo. Get up, up, _up!"_

Ughhhhhh.

I blinked. Blinked again. Blinked once more. The sun was exploding through my windows, unrelenting in its horrific, blinding brightness. My eyes were on fire. My eyes, oh **God**, they burrrrrrned! Everywhere I turned, every place I looked - the room was bathed in that dazzling, _completely_ unwelcome golden light. God _damn_ you, sunshine!

"Wh .. what? Dahellz goin' awn?"

I slapped two hands over my face, peered through them to look down at the end of my bed. Looking back at me, in all her pouty and miserable glory, was Chick. She glared at me, a look of mingled anger, concern - and the now perpetual sheen of terror - plastered on her pale face. She threw her sheet of hay yellow hair behind her back, and gave my blanket a sharp tug.

"Out of bed, Harlow. It's almost one in the afternoon, you slob. Come on, get your lazy ass _up_!"

"One .. holy _shit_, one o'clock? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure - I'm dead, not retarded. I can read a clock, Lo. Come on, greaseball, you look and smell like hell."

I groaned, throwing the warm blankets off of my legs. A cold rush of air gave me a killer case of goosebumps, and I slid up against the backboard, tucking my face into my knees. My eyes were still trying to adjust to the sudden flood of light, but I realized it wasn't just my cornea's that were in a terrific amount of pain ...

"Ugh .. oh God, I feel like I died or somethin'."

"How about some manners - dead girl, right over here. And you're not dead. You just look like it."

I ran a hand over my head, my face, my arms. What the hell had happened last night? My eyes were puffy - no, my entire _face_ was. I was swollen. I was sore. My brain was pounding painfully against my skull. I felt lightheaded, woozy. There was a ball of knotted hair on the top of my head, a light sheen of sweat all over my body. I felt hungover, but like ... a million times worse. Like I'd drank an entire keg of whiskey the night before and had survived.

"What the hell happened last night?" I muttered, still attempting to shield my eyes from the incessantly sparkly sun. "Did I get hit by a truck or something?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Chick sighed. "All I know is Ghost Douche dragged you into the house, you were sniffling and crying, he put you to bed and you've been drooling and snoring ever since."

"Ghost douche?" I said blankly. "Ryan?"

"You know another one?" she mumbled, perching herself up on the edge of my dresser.

"Why was - oooh. Oh. Right."

My confusion and exhaustion had disappeared - they'd been replaced with an all-too familiar feeling of horrific, all consuming misery. Yesterday. _Yesterday _had happened. My stomach churned into knots, my hands turning to icicles. I'd forgotten. **Almost**.

"Ryan," I said softly, looking at Chick's fearful face. "Is he ... ?"

"Woke up about fifteen minutes ago," she said loftily. "Rolled off the couch. He's in the kitchen now."

"The couch?" I repeated. "He slept on the couch?"

"For a couple hours," she said. "Paced around the living room for the better part of the evening though. Weird guy."

"But he stayed?" I asked quietly. "He stayed the whole night?"

She frowned, giving me one of her perfected '_what-are-you,-stupid?'_ looks. "Yeah. The whole night. Don't feel _too_ special, Lo. I mean, what else did he have to do? Try and record ghost farts?"

I shot her a scathing look, feeling self-consciously at the top of my head - it felt like a rat's nest. "He's still here, though?"

"Are you _dumb_?" she asked in exasperation, throwing her hands up. "He's in the kitchen, Harlow."

"Right, right," I said, trying to pull myself together. "The kitchen."

The memories of yesterday were flooding back into my brain, tugging fiercely at my heart. I wanted to forget. I pushed away the flashbacks, begged them to just disappear. But that's not how life works, is it? Why is that? When we wake up from an especially amazing, fantastic dream, we can never remember it. It's the nightmares we recall, the nightmares we can never urge ourselves to forget. It was unfair.

"So are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to guess?"

I looked up at Chick, tried to force a smile. "All in good time, Chicky."

She looked grouchily at her feet. "I wanna know _now_ though."

"You've got the rest of eternity to find out," I sighed, kicking the covers back more.

I rolled over and onto my feet, which I realized immediately was a very terrible idea. The room was spinning, and my knees were threatening to give out on me. I feel almost nauseous - I hadn't eaten in almost twenty four hours. I couldn't even _remember_ the last time I'd drank anything. I steadied myself against my night table, willing myself to keep upright. The last thing I needed was Ryan coming in here and finding me passed out in a greasy heap on my bedroom floor.

When the room had stopped spinning so violently, I walked a few staggering steps towards the door. Chick was eyeing me curiously. I waved a hand dismissively.

"Fine," I whispered. "I'm fine."

I padded out of the room, into the hallway - again, the sun was pouring in through every window. I grimaced slightly, still not completely accustomed to the brightness. The apartment was exactly as I remembered it. Everything in place. My world might be about ready to fall to pieces, but at least I still had my cozy little house. The smell of coffee and toast wafted through the apartment, and I felt my stomach pang hungrily.

I walked through the living room noiselessly, peering through the bar window into the kitchen. My heart gave a spastic little flop - all I could see was the back of his head, but I felt a rush of not only gratitude - but of love.

Dark blue always looked so wonderful against his skin - that navy shirt against his olive tone. The dark brown of his hair. The lean body hovering over the stovetop. The sight of him made me do something I swear I never thought I'd be able to do again -

I smiled.

All my pain, all my agony, everything - for one moment, one small, fraction of a second - subsided. I felt a rush of hope. Of love. Of all consuming thankfulness. He had stayed. I'd asked him to stay and he had. He _had_. Here he was. In my kitchen. With me. I needed him, and he was **still **here. I could've cried.

I walked into the kitchen slowly, but he must've heard my footsteps. He peered over from the stove, bright chocolate brown eyes round with concern. He smiled.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said, my voice still slightly hoarse with sleep.

"Eggs?"

I felt my stomach give an angry grumble. I nodded. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all," he said, grabbing a few more from the carton. "How was your sleep?"

"I don't feel like I did," I said, trying to fight a yawn and sliding up onto one of the barstools. "I feel like I was hit by a truck."

He smiled sympathetically. "You sound better, less congested. You still look a little pooped, though."

I nodded. "It's mainly just my head. I'm a swollen, miserable greaseball."

"The most beautiful swollen, miserable greaseball I've surely ever met," he said, stirring at the sizzling eggs. "You had a rough night. How are you feeling?"

"Like it's the end of the world," I sighed. "But ... I'll be alright. It _all_ will be, I guess."

He nodded. "It will, Lo. I know it will. Just give it time to all blow over, y'know?"

I rested my face in my hands, kneading at my forehead. "Yeah. I guess it _wasn't_ all just a bad dream, then, was it?"

"No," he said softly. "I wish I could lie and say it was."

I laughed humorlessly. "That makes two of us."

The kitchen fell into silence, the dripping of the coffee machine and the sizzling and occasional pop from the eggs the only noise. Ryan cooked in silence, gave me space. I had nothing to say. I was too tired.

"Toast?" he asked, after another few minutes of silence.

I shook my head. "No, thank you. Just the eggs will do."

He set me a small plate, handing it over the counter. He perched against the sink, munching cheerfully on his toast. I felt a pang of embarrassment - how can he get four hours of sleep, crash on a couch, and _still_ look like he just rolled off the cover of some male model magazine? I'm sure I looked like one of those psychotic cat ladies you see walking alone in parks in the middle of the afternoon. Y'know. The ones that talk to the wind and always end up peeing themselves? Yep - that's what my current look was based on.

I poked at my eggs, hungry but unable to eat. I was worried I wouldn't be able to keep it down - I had had a hard enough time fighting off the tears and the anger this morning. I didn't think eggs would fare much better. Emotions at least were only that - feelings. Eggs. These suckers could do some damage.

"Kimmy called this morning," Ryan said softly, jabbing at his eggs contently. "About eleven. She said if you feel like it, give her a call back."

I smiled, chopping my eggs into tiny little pieces. "I will. Later."

He nodded, scooping another mouthful of eggs into his mouth. I felt like shit. I'm sure I looked even worse. But Ryan brought an odd air of calm into the kitchen. His presence soothed me in a way. I felt comfortable, relaxed. My mind was racing a mile a minute, the conversation from yesterday rushing painfully through my mind. But I was okay. I was alive. I was here. He was here. We were together. And for some reason, that filled me with such a sense of relief, I couldn't even explain it if I'd tried.

"Hey," I said quietly, slipping off the barstool unsteadily. "I just .. I just wanted to say thanks. For yesterday. For last night. Just ... for staying."

He smiled, and I could feel him watching me carefully as I teetered my way over to the fridge.

"It's not a problem," he said earnestly, his fork clicking against his plate. "I wish I could've done more, truth be told."

I grabbed the carton of orange juice from the fridge, bumping the door shut behind me. "You did more than I could've asked for. I really can't thank you enough. Orange juice?"

"Please," he said. "No need to thank me. I'll do anything you need me to."

I smiled to myself, pouring two glasses full of juice. I handed him his glass, and leaned uncertainly against the countertop across from him.

"I was a mess," I continued, feeling an inexplicable need to explain myself. "I shouldn't have dumped that all on you. It was just .. a shock, I suppose. That's all. I wasn't expecting it."

He nodded. "How can you prepare for something like that, anyways? I would've fallen to pieces. Just .. I know it sounds ridiculous coming from me, clearly I can't even imagine how awful you must feel. But ... it **will** get better, Lo. That's how things like that work. It all blows up in your face, life is hectic and crazy and .. and _scary_, I guess is the word. But it calms down. Everything gets back to normal. People forget."

He put his plate down on the counter next to him, rested his elbows back against the sink. I walked towards him, putting my plate of nearly untouched food on top of his. He stopped me from walking back to my little corner, pulled me close. His cologne, the musky scent I'd grown to love so dearly, filling my nose. I nestled into his side, resting my cheek against that soft, well toned arm.

"It'll be alright, Harlow," he said softly, hand rubbing my back comfortingly. "If you need anything, ever. I'm always here."

"I know," I said quietly, wrapping an arm around his thin waist.

His skin was so soft, so warm against my cheek. I could've stood there all day, leaning against him. I felt so safe, so comfortable. The whole world might've been falling to pieces - and truth be told, my whole world _was_. But as long as I was here, right next to him;

I'd be alright.

**(Katrina)**

"Alright alright - how about this. We loosen the screws on her chair. She comes in to class, sits down - _boom!_ Frog ass **all** over the floor!"

"That's it?" Serge asked, cocking a brow. "Seems a bit tame."

"I'm not done," Heather said, looking excitedly between the four of us. "Then, when she's on the floor, red and mortified and toady as always, we sneak up behind her annnnd - **KABLAM**. Shoot her in the tits with a sawed off shotgun!"

"Love it," I said, clapping my hands together. "Especially the sawed off shotgun part."

"Well it'd definitely take the heat off of Harlow for a while," Eilfie said, rolling her eyes. "But then there's the whole first degree murder thing."

"We wouldn't _kill_ her," said Heather in exasperation. "Just shoot her nipples off. Scare her a little bit."

Josh shook his head. "You're fuckin' _terrifying_, Tad."

"Didn't hurt my feelings when my Mum said it, doesn't hurt my feelings when you do," she sniffed haughtily.

"Look, this isn't gonna do anyone any good," Elf sighed, leaning back in Ryan's chair.

Heather ignored her, making little gun noises and shooting at the air with her fingers.

"You're right," Josh said, nodding in agreement. "We could sit here for days and plot ways to ruin Denise's life. But it's not going to help anyone. What's done is done. We can't change the past."

"But we can change the _future_ of her nipples forever," reasoned Taddy.

"If you make any sort of reference to Denise's nipples again, I'm going to throw up," I moaned, trying desperately to rid my brain of that terrible image.

"It's a shitty plan anyways," Tad sighed, curling up on top of the desk. "Frogs don't even _have_ titties."

"Instead of plotting on how to get back at Denise," Eilfie said, shooting Heather a dirty look. "How about we try and think of a way to make Harlow feel better?"

"Pretty sure she'd be on board with _any_ of the last ten master plans we've come up with," Sergey said, with a sly grin.

"Has Ryan been home at all since last night?" I asked Serge, looking thoughtfully around the empty classroom.

Serge shook his head. "No. He spent the night at Harlow's. Sent me a text at like two in the morning."

"I wonder how she's doing?" Josh said softly, looking sadly out the windows.

"Who knows," Elf said, tapping a foot rhythmically against the desk. "How do you cope with something like this?"

Heather sighed. "As best you can. She'll be okay though, won't she? No one ever has anything bad to say about Harlow ... they'll probably realize this is just a huge crock of shit and they'll get tired of it in a couple of days."

I nodded in agreement. "But until then .. if _anyone_ asks us any**thing** about her, or about the rumors or .. or anything along those lines - "

"Deny it," Elf said simply. "Don't refuse to comment. Just deny it. Frankly, we shouldn't know even _half_ of much as we do already, all the information we have on her we found out by fluke."

"Good ol' Chip," Serge sighed.

"He didn't mean to," Heather said. "You know Chip ... he's such an excitable little googly-eyed munchkin."

We all laughed, the first genuine one we'd had in almost twenty four hours. The room was empty, the halls quiet. Outside, the sun was shining brilliantly, unaware of the darkness that was sweeping through our lives, through _Harlow's_ life, as we spoke. But through it all, the sun's light was reassuring: at least there would always be that **one** constant, right?

No matter how dark the times, the sun will always rise.

**(Ryan)**

_He shook his head, raising his hands up in defense. "Look at me. Look - I don't want to hurt you, okay? Let's make a deal. You give me that gun, and I promise you - I promise - I will walk you out of here and you will _never_ have to come back. Sound pretty good?"_

"Ooh, Criminal Minds?"

I peered over the back of the couch, and couldn't help the grin that spread over my face. Harlow, even amidst all of her unhappiness, bounced into the living room, hair shaggy and damp, loose ringlets falling over her shoulders. Her face was alive, glowing, makeup-less - natural perfection. No longer swollen, the water had washed the pain from her eyes. The smell of her shampoo - coconuts with that sweet hint of vanilla - had wafted over to me, intoxicating my senses.

"Maybe? Never seen the show before."

She nestled next to me on the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chin. She'd just taken a shower - I could still feel the heat of the water radiating off of her. She smiled, dimples deep set and eyes crinkling.

"It is," she said, leaning against the cushion and running her thin fingers through her hair. "It's a fantastic show - really _smart_. It's not just some regular, boring old crime show. It's got substance."

"What's it about?"

"The Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico - FBI, you know? They get called to different parts of the country to help solve murder cases by profiling."

"What's profiling?"

"Branch of psychology, actually," she said, looking contently at the television. "It's studying behaviorism. You have a criminal that no one can identify, or a serial killer that's on the loose - you study the known information you have about them. How they kill a person, their MO. Do they leave anything? Do they kill in a populated area? Who are their targets? You can create a profile of the unknown subject based on their behaviors at a crime scene."

"How can something like a weapon they used help determine who they are?" I asked, completely puzzled. "Isn't that what fingerprints are for?"

She smiled, patting my knee. "Sometimes there aren't fingerprints. The one rule of psychology, is that behavior is never random. Even physical evidence can lie, but the way a person acts or - even more importantly - _doesn't_ act, that can tell you more than a footprint ever could."

"Is that what you're gonna be doing?" I asked, watching the buff black guy on TV steer a young boy out of the dilapidated old house. "Profiling and stuff?"

She shook her head, flecking me with little drops of coconutty water. "Not exactly. I'm in developmental psychology, more specifically child psychology. I'll be working closely with social workers and schools. I study behaviorism, every type of psychologist does. But I'll be using it to help me figure out what's the matter with children, not criminals."

I nodded, allowing her to snuggle up next to me on the sofa. The people on the show were chatting on the plane, but I could barely hear them. My heart was beating a mile a minute. We'd been hanging out for weeks, Harlow and I, and I couldn't help but wonder when I'd ever really get used to her presence. My arm was around her shoulders, and I noticed with a pang of concern, she was feeling much thinner than she had a couple weeks ago. She'd always been a tiny little thing, but she fit almost perfectly in the small crook between my arm and chest now - not exactly a large space.

I squeezed her shoulders a bit, and her arms automatically wrapped around my waist. I smiled - bonier, yes. But the delicate, sharply carved muscles in her arms were still prominent along her dark, tanned skin.

"What made you want to be a child psychologist?" I asked, as the credits rolled on the screen ahead.

She sat up a bit, resting her cheek against my arm, one arm still around my waist, the other clutching my hand that hung over her shoulder.

"I want to help kids," she said simply. "When I was little, all I ever wanted was someone to talk to, to understand what I was going through. I want to be the person I never had. I just wanna be there for them. Help them understand that different isn't necessarily a bad thing."

"You want to help all kids, or just foster kids?"

"Mostly foster," she said. "They're the ones that need the most help, I think. They need to know what's happening to them isn't their fault. I remember feeling guilty when I was little. I felt like all the bad things that happened to me were because I was a bad person. I don't want anyone else to have to feel like that or think that. I want them to have hope. I don't want them to forget how to dream."

I kissed the top of her head, inhaling her sweet scent. "That's wonderful, Lo."

She gave my hand a light squeeze. "I'm close, too! A year and a bit away from my degree. I've got to get experience this Summer."

"What do you mean, experience?"

"Well, after four years, they've done just about all the in class teaching they can do. After your four years, you're expected to get some real world experience. This girl in my class, Tiffany, she's got a job at a pediatric hospital. Lucky girl - her mum works there, so she gets to intern with the site Psych. Another guy, Daniel, he has connections at this Res camp."

She stretched her legs out in front of her, and curled them back up onto the couch.

"It's not a _job_, persay," she said thoughtfully. "I just need research experience."

"Where are you planning to go?" I asked, but the gears in my brain were cranking - I had an idea.

"Oh, well Sophie ha - uhm .. "

Her face went oddly pale, and she stared without a sound at the television. I felt an uncomfortable knot in my stomach - Sophie had _what_? Whatever it was, I had my doubts it was going to pan out. Not after the day they had yesterday.

"Nevermind it," I said softly, mussing her hair. "There's a million places out there that'd be lucky to have you, Lo."

She smiled half-heartedly, and gave a quick kind of nod. She'd surprised herself - she seemed to have almost forgotten the heated run in between her and Sophie last night. I felt my heart ache a little, seeing that quick wave of pain wash over her face. Her eyes blinked incessantly, attempting without much success to get rid of the tears threatening to pool over.

"Hey," I said, turning to look at her. "Don't be upset, now, Lo. I have an idea."

She looked at me and gave a tiny little sniff, pawing gently at her eyes with a closed fist. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, attempting to hide the excitement in my voice. "This Summer - actually, starting in about a week - we've got about eleven cases we've got left to film for the next season of Paranormal State. Maybe more. Out of the eleven, we've got about four or five cases centered around children."

"What does that have to do with me?" she asked, politely puzzled.

"We bring a psychologist to every case," I explained. "Jamie, she was our resident child psych. But she went on maternity leave about two months ago and I don't think she's planning on coming back. Not for at **least** a year, year and half."

Harlow looked at me, interest evident on her face, but a definite look of uncertainty underneath the curiosity.

"What did she do, exactly?" Lo asked, tapping her fingers against my palm absentmindedly.

"Whenever there's children involved in a case, we like to bring along a psychologist," I said. "Just to make sure the kids aren't ... well, aren't _'making things up'_. We've had a lot of cases, before the show started, way back at the beginning of PRS, where mom's would call us and sob and say their kid is having visions of this and that. They can't sleep because there's a ghost harassing them, things like that. Nine times out of ten it turned out the kid had some kind of mental disease or they were just making it up. Now, we know better. We bring along a psychologist, someone specially trained to communicate with these kids, figure out if their claims are legit or not."

She was still looking slightly uncertain, but the potential of it was definitely crossing her mind. I had considered asking her for help for quite some time now, but I was always unsure of how to bring it up. This had been the _perfect_ opportunity.

"You don't have to do it," I assured her. "It's just an offer, if the thing with Sophie doesn't pan out."

I saw her pained expression, and I immediately felt guilty for mentioning the name. "Sorry, I didn't - "

"It's fine, it's alright," she said, raking a hand through her hair. "Would I ... would I have to be on camera?"

I shook my head. "Not if you didn't want to be. The psychology evaluations usually happen off of camera, before the television crew even gets there."

She nodded, lost in thought again. "It would really be a great opportunity ... we've been studying a lot lately on a child's inability to decipher between reality and fantasy in the early childhood developmental stages. It would help me out a lot with research."

I smiled, giving her shoulder another light squeeze. "Just think about it. If you decide it's a good idea, and if .. well if other things don't work out, you're more than welcome to join the off screen crew. It'd be a real pleasure having you with us. And it doesn't have to be a long term thing, either."

She looked thoughtfully back at the television, and I could tell she was seriously considering the offer. "I'll let you know," she said after a moment of silence. "It's .. it's very generous. You'd be helping me out more than you could ever imagine."

"Me helping _you_ out? Oh please. You're the one who'd be doing me the favor. You can't even imagine how tough it is, trying to find a psychologist to agree to work with a bunch of ghost chasers."

She laughed, taking my face carefully in her hands. "Paranormal investigators."

"Call us what you like," I said softly, with a small smile. "To the rest of the world, I'm just a nerdy, ghostbuster."

"**My** nerdy ghostbuster," she whispered, resting her lips lightly against my own.

"Forever."

And only seconds later, we were wrapped around each other, hands in each other's hair, making out like it was the fuckin' end of the world. Oh **hells **yes.

Who knew talking about psychotic little kids and ghostbusting could get a girl so hot?

**(Kimmy)**

Outside, the birds were chirping. The sun was shining. All was calm.

Inside my condo, however? Everyone was going **apeshit**.

"She'll be here any minute!"

"Is there coffee? I know there's tea, but what if she wants coffee?"

"My hair! Oh _shit_, it's all poofy!"

"Where's the coffee? I can't find the coffee!"

"EVERYONE, STOP PANICKING. YOU'RE PANICKING."

"My hair! What the _hell_ it looks like a cotton ball!"

"THE COFFEE, DO WE HAVE COFFEE?"

"I'M PANICKING!"

"Where's the cups? Do we not have cups? Cups? CUPS?"

"THE KETTLE IS BOILING, IT'S BOILING?"

"MY HAIR!"

"IS THERE NO COFFEE?"

"MUGS, WE NEED MUGS!"

"SOMEONE POUR THE KETTLE!"

"You know, I don't think Ryan's the only one trying to win Harlow over," Lindsey said calmly, sipping her tea and watching rather smugly as the remainder of the girls went batshit. "Who knew the team was fifty percent apeshit lesbians?"

"Jess, pour the kettle," I called. "Meagan, mugs are in the top cabinet. Jenn, the coffee machine is next to the fridge, just hit the 'Brew' button. And Em, your hair is fine, just relax."

The flailing ceased, but there were still looks panic on the girls faces. Today, on this fine, breezy Sunday, myself, Linds, Jenn, Jess, Meagan and Emma were gathered in my apartment, awaiting the arrival of our beautiful albeit perhaps a little nutty friend and captain, Harley Bear.

Since the heated confrontation between Lo and Sophie on Friday, the team had been ripped apart. What happened in the auditorium after practice was a secret - so naturally, by midnight the same evening, everyone on the team knew about their fight. Team Sophie, as we called them, were the girls who were backing Soph in this ridiculous little argument. You know the ones I'm talking about, right? The girls who thought Harlow should be thrown from a very tall building because she was a weird, ghost lovin' 'freak'. Kenzie, Ainslee, Ash and Natalie. The anti-Harlow's. But then, in my quaint but cozy little home, there was the other team. Team Harlow. Team anti-Sophie. The girls that believed Harlow was _still_ the girl we **all** knew and loved. The ones who, whether or not it was true, accepted Harlow for who she was (or wasn't?). We were the ones who supported her. Who loved her. Who appreciated her regardless of the shit going around school.

There was Linds and I, who'd had Harley's back from the very beginning - she was our _girl_. Jess, who idolized Harlow like some sort of God. Jenn and Meagan, who'd never gotten along with Sophie and would back Lo even if she announced she was a neo-Nazi. And Emma, who for all her fuzzy haired faults, saw the good in people no matter what everyone else was saying. The six of us - forever Harlow's.

I'd called Lo the day after the volleyball fiasco, and to my surprise, Ryan had answered. She'd been in bed all day, but he said he'd get her to call me as soon as she was up and alright. And he'd stayed true to his promise - only a couple hours later, Harlow'd rang. So I guess this _wasn't_ just a Team Harlow kinda gathering. We were all **very** Team Buelly as well.

I'd spoken to her, very briefly mind you, on the phone a second time later that evening. She sounded alright - a little stuffy, a little tired. But she seemed okay. I told her a bunch of us were getting together for tea and coffee and cookies and probably a 40 of rum, and that she was more then welcome to join. She'd agreed, although the relief in her voice I think was masking a lot more uncertainty.

So as the girls arrived and found out Harley Poo was going to be here, they all, one by one, slowly but surely, began to go completely batshit. They meant well by it, don't get me wrong - they wanted everything to be perfect. They wanted Harlow to feel comfortable. They wanted her to know we had her back.

But did they have to be so God damn _squirrely_ about everything? Jeeze.

"Just sit, you guys," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "We've hung out with Harlow a million times before. Today isn't going to be any different."

"Yes it is," Emma said, raking frantically at her silvery blonde hair. "She's on the outs with half the team, including her _best friend_. She's probably depressed and upset, we have to make her feel welcome and happy."

"But not be **too** obvious about it," Jenn cut in, poking hopelessly at the coffee machine - she'd already single-handedly finished off a fourth of the bottle of rum. Friggin' alcoholic. "We just need to let her know that we support her, no matter what."

"I think she already knows we do," Jess said placidly, popping on the top of the teapot. "She wouldn't have agreed to come if she thought we all hated her."

"I **did** tell her who was coming," I pointed out, taking a sip from my own mug. "I'm not going to say she sounded relieved, but she definitely didn't ask why Sophie and them wouldn't be here."

"Who cares if they're anywhere," Meagan said derisively. "Bunch of close-minded skanks. Who need 'em?"

"I'll drink to that," Jenn said cheerfully, taking a swig of the Sailor Jerry's on the counter.

Someone should probably have let her know it wasn't even noon yet - at this rate, that bottle would be gone in another hour. As the girls all took seats around the coffee table, chatting animatedly to one another, there was a faint little knock on the door. Five heads swiveled to peer creepily through the front window, craning their necks to peer out.

"Oh would you _stop_ that," I muttered, shooting them all dirty looks. "She's not a circus freak, get ahold of yourselves."

I walked quickly to the front door and let it swing open - there, in all her shy little adorableness, was Harlow. She grinned, holding up a white box.

"Cinnamon buns," she said cheerfully. "From Stella's. Nothing goes better with tea and coffee and alcohol then a Stella's Cinna-bun."

"You brilliant, beautiful girl," I sighed, taking the box and hugging it against my chest. "Come in, come in - we've been excited for you to get here! Except now I think the guest of honor is gonna be this box of delicious sticky chewy goodness. Ughhh, oh God I'm drooling all over the box."

She laughed, slipping off her shoes and following me back into the living room.

"Harley Bear!" Lindsey said happily. "How are you, beautifu - ARE THOSE CINNAMON BUNS?"

"WHAT?" Emma cried, jumping to her feet, eyes wide. "Hi Harlow, nice to see you, blah blah blah - SHE BROUGHT CINNAMON BUNS, **GIMME**!"

In a mad rush, the white box had been ripped from my arms and torn open on the coffee table. Harlow laughed, plopping down on the sofa next to me. I looked over at her casually, and was relieved to see that the horrific misery that had ravaged her beautiful face on Friday was nowhere to be seen. Granted, she didn't look her normal, bubbly self quite yet, but there was a calm about her again. A comfortable ease, one that I was scared I'd never see again.

"Tea or coffee, Lo?" Jess asked, stirring her own mug from the kitchen - she was the only girl that hadn't punched their way to the box of pastries.

"Tea would be lovely," she said contently. "Spoonful of sugar, bit of milk. Thanks, Jess."

After our apeshit little friends had stuffed their mouths, hands and pockets full of cinnamon buns, we all nestled into our little chairs and couches, and sat in a comfortable silence. Jess handed Harlow her tea and took a seat in a chair opposite, big doe eyes visible over her own mug.

"We're so glad you came, Harley," Emma said, ripping little pieces off what might have been her twelfth cinnamon bun. "We were worried about you, y'know."

Harlow smiled, tapping her fingers absentmindedly against her cup. "I know. You shouldn't have been. I was just having a shitty day, that's all."

"Made no better, I'm sure, by that nutjob Sophie," Jenn said with a scowl, bottle of rum still grasped in her fist.

Harlow shrugged, but said nothing. She sipped at her cup of tea, averting eye contact.

"We won't talk about it," Lindsey assured her, shooting Jenn one of her '_Jesus-Christ,-stop-drinking-it's-not-even-noon-yet'_ looks. "We just want you to know that we support you and we love you, and we're always always here for you."

Harlow smiled appreciatively, and nodded her head. "You're the greatest gals I've ever known. I wouldn't have been able to get through the weekend without you."

"Or without Ryan," I said, grinning a _little_ cheekily at her. "He's a sweetheart, such a cutie pie. And the best phone manners. Usually guys I talk to on the phone are too busy scratching their balls and watching TV to have any decent conversation with."

She laughed, but Meagan looked at me quizzically.

"When did you talk to him on the phone?" she asked.

"I called Harlow's place yesterday," I explained. "Ryan was there, Lo was still sleeping but I talked to him for a minute or two. Said he'd get her to call me as soon as she was up and showered and everythin'."

"Oooh, what was Ryan doing at your place?" Jenn asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Harlow giggled but shook her head. "He picked me up Friday night. Spent the night at my place - on the couch, honest - " she said, laughing at Jenn's gleeful little squeal. " - I was really upset. He drove me home, got me all settled, and just crashed on the couch. Trust me, I was in no condition to pull _any_ kinda moves that night."

"So he stayed the whole night?" Linds asked.

She nodded. "Most of the day, actually. He made breakfast, helped me clean up a bit. We mainly just crashed on the couch and watched television, actually."

"That sounds lovely," Jess sighed whimsically. "He always seemed very sweet."

Harlow nodded. "He is."

"So are you two, like ... _official?_" Emma asked, stealing a swig of rum from Jenn.

Lo shrugged, and looked thoughtfully out the window. "We haven't really discussed it in great length. I'm not sure."

"Oooh, you should invite him the Penn State Sports Gala!" Jenn said excitedly, stealing the booze back from Em. "That's like, _official_ official. If he says yes to that, you **know** he's yours!"

She laughed, but shook her head. "Actually, I don't think I'm going ... "

We all exchanged horrified looks. Miss the Sports Gala? But Harlow was a University Captain! She couldn't miss it ... and who was going to look after us once we'd had so much to drink we couldn't even stand properly? Harlow wasn't much of a drinker, she was always the one who helped our drunken asses out to the taxi's. What were we gonna do without her?

"You're not?" Jenn asked, looking almost on the verge of tears. "But Harlow! Why?"

"If it's because of those bitch-tits," Meagan said, looking angrily out the window. "Trust us, Harley - we'll deal with them."

Harlow shook her head, but couldn't help looking a bit flattered at our sudden wave of indignance.

"No no," she said, putting her mug down on the coffee table. "It's not that .. that doesn't bother me. I just won't be in town."

"Where are you going?" I asked skeptically.

Where _could_ she be going? None of the team knew much about Harlow's past or family or anything like that ... but we knew she grew up in Foster Care, had no living relatives except a mentally ill brother out in Jersey, and the only times she ever went out of town were with Sophie. Harlow wasn't the type of girl to just up and leave for a vacation, either. I doubt she could've afforded it, and to be frank, she hated being anywhere besides home.

"Well," she said, looking uncomfortable. "I'm .. I'm actually going to Minneapolis. With Ryan."

"Are you meeting his family?" Meagan gasped, nearly slopping the rum all of my carpet - _betch_!

She laughed uneasily, but shook her head. "No .. see, he's got a case for his show down there, actually. Him and the production team and camera crews and everything are going to film an episode or something."

None of us said anything, but the room's atmosphere changed immediately. Jess didn't move, but her eyes got even bigger. Em and Meagan exchanged slightly startled expressions. Jenn stopped mid-chug, looking curiously at Lo. Lindsey looked unphased, but I saw her eyes narrow a little in thought. Harlow cleared her throat, but looked around the room.

"It's ... it's not like that," she said softly. "The case has a child involved. They need a psychologist to go and interview the clients, make sure they're mentally stable and fit enough to partake in a television show, you know? I've got to start doing my co-op and research papers this Summer, and it's a perfect opportunity."

"I thought you were supposed to be working at a social working law firm?" Emma asked.

Harlow smiled sadly, shrugging her shoulders. "Supposed to. Sophie was going to set that up for me, but ... I don't know if that's all going to pan out or not."

We all saw, with great guilt, a look of pain pass over Harlow's face at the mention of Sophie. Ostensibly, it was still rough hearing her old best friend's name. We could understand that.

"Yeah, I'd look into other things too," I said, patting her back lightly. "That's .. that's pretty cool though! You get to do all your research work, **and** be on television."

"Oh no, no," she said, shaking her head. "No, I'm not going to be on the show. I don't .. I don't want to be. I'm going down with Ryan and his team a day or two before production starts. I'll do my interviews before then."

"You're not gonna be on TV?" Jess asked, looking slightly puzzled. "But why?"

"I don't want to be," Lo said simply. "There are more important things I want to do than be a television star ... I'm only doing this to help Ryan out. Their regular psychologist is on maternity leave, and they don't know how long she'll be gone. And this fits right into my Psych area, you know? Kids, developmental studies. It's a great opportunity."

"Oh no kidding," Meagan said with a nod. "That's amazing luck, Lo."

She nodded. "It's going to be really great, I think .. I'll have all my studies and research reports done in no time. I'll be able to spend all the rest of the Summer partying and going to the beach, I won't be cooped up in a tiny little office for three months."

"That'll be great," Jenn said, perching the bottle of rum precariously on the edge of the coffee table. "I thought you meant you were goin' down there to do, y'know .. the other kinda thing."

Harlow smiled a little awkwardly, but shook her head. "Psychic stuff. No, I'm just doing psychology interviews. That's all."

"But if he asked you to do psychic stuff," Jenn slurred, with a drunken little wink. "You would saaaaay ... ?"

"Ignore her," I sighed, grabbing the bottle of Sailor Jerry's from the table. "Christ Jenn, it's not even noon."

"And you're so subtle, too," Lindsey smirked, trying to contain her laughter.

Harlow, on the other hand, looked very contemplatively at Jenn. She looked odd, like her brain was fighting against itself, trying to decide whether or not she should say something. I wasn't the only one who seemed to notice, either - the rest of the girls were looking slyly at Harlow, clearly noting the same things I was.

"We don't care either way, Harlow," Jess said softly, catching us all by surprise - whenever Jessie talked, it always scared the shit out of us, because she so rarely did. "If you are or if you're not .. we're your friends. We love you no matter what."

Harlow looked serenely at Jess, but her eyes were glossy, like they were fighting back a well of tears.

"Thanks," she said quietly, hands fidgeting in her lap.

"You don't have to tell us anything," I said softly, wrapping my arms around her. "That's not why we brought you here."

"I know," she said, nuzzling my head with her nose.

"It was just a question," Jenn said, looking slightly apologetic. "Sorry Lo, I didn't mean to make ya feel awkward. I'm drunk. _Again_."

Harlow laughed, but shook her head. "No no .. it's okay. I .. I don't know. I think some parts of the rumor ... well, they're kinda true. For the most part."

She looked awkwardly at her feet, but the rest of the room seemed a lot more at ease.

"We won't ask you to elaborate," Meagan said gently. "Frankly Harlow, you can talk to ghosts and have Sock-Hops with Demons on Friday nights, and I'd still like you just the same."

"Agreed," Emma said brightly, snatching the rum back to their side of the table. "We love you no matter what. You're not a freak, Harlow. You're like a super sexy real-life Michael Jackson Thriller."

"Thriller was zombies, dumbass," Jenn burped.

"Well excuse **me** for trying to make Harlow feel a bit more comfortable," Emma sniffed.

But Harlow didn't seem to care - she was looking at the girls opposite her, a whole new expression on her face. It wasn't embarrassment or anxiety, like it had been just two days ago. It was a look of relief. Of gratitude. Of _happiness_. She looked at me, eyes brimming with tears once again, but this time, she smiled.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"We're friends," I said simply. "Would you have expected anything else?"

"DAAWWWWWWE," cried Jenn, unsteadily climbing to her feet. "You know what this calls for?"

"Group Hug?" Em asked.

"I was going to say more rum, but yeah, alright - **GROUP HUG!**"

And with barely enough time to put down our mugs, Harlow and I were screaming in pain and happiness, underneath a pile of wailing, squealing girls.

Psychic? Drunk? Cottonball Poof Hair? Didn't matter.

Our love was, and always would be, unconditional.

* * *

**Author's Note: **HELLO LOVELY READERS/REVIEWERS!

This author's note is gonna be ridiculously short - my friend's picking me up for a skiing trip! Long story, will explain more when the next chapter is posted. But I'll be gone for a couple days, so I decided an update would tide you all over!

The biggest, most sincere and delicious and fabulous thank-you's go out to the following reviewers:

PSUPRS (you're beautiful and i hope you're feeling 100%), xoxoMyRealityIsFiciton (there are no words in the world to describe my deep, undying love for you, you're so fabulous!), kcollins720 (you're the most faithful reviewer known to man, i adore you), akahitoha (you are my sunshine on the cloudiest of days, i lovelovelovelove you!), WinchesterAngel3389 (your entire review made me squeal and flail everywhere, can we please be best friends from now until the end of time? you're amazing!), chicajenny (my savior, how i adore you - you will never know! let's hold hands and be together forever!) and nouseforaname89 (i'm so glad you left a review! i am flattered you've been reading for so long, and i hope you continue to enjoy it! much much love!)

I will leave you all the longest most intense author's note in the world next update, but I'm typing with one hand and packing with the other as we speak! I must go, but I love you all and there are no words to explain to you guys how much I appreciate all your feedback!

**love;** ellah!


	20. Grab An Accordion And Start Dancing!

**Chapter Nineteen**

Grab An Accordion And Start Dancing

**(Ryan)**

"We'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

Next to me, hair blowing behind her in the cool, Minnesota breeze, Harlow gave me a small smile. Those brilliant eyes hidden behind an oversized pair of aviators, she looked more like a supermodel on her way to a photo shoot than a psychology student on her way to talk to a five year old. Only Harlow could make a chilly car ride down miles of wheat fields look drop dead gorgeous. My _girl_, whatta beauty.

For the last four hours, it'd been she and I driving down the Trans Highway on our way to the next Paranormal State location. I'd picked her up from her apartment early this morning, and we'd only taken one break on the long drive so far, just to pick up a couple of burgers for lunch. It was nice, to tell you the truth. Just Lo and I, free to talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company. Not discussing anything heavy, not reminiscing about the gnarly week we'd both just had. Simply driving, laughing and talking.

I was in _heaven_.

"You ever lived in Minnesota?" I asked her, turning down the freeway down into the heart of Minneapolis.

She nodded, looking reminiscently out the windows. "Only once. Never here, though. Edina, not a huge town but bigger than I'd been in before. It was a decent home, actually ... lady who ran it was lovely, Betty MacFarlane. I was with her four months before they displaced me."

"Have you seen her since?"

She shook her head. "Not since I left. Regardless of if I enjoyed my stay or not, I've never really had much desire to revisit old homes."

"Understandable," I said, turning off into a small suburb.

"Have _you_ been here before?" she asked, looking curiously out the window at the small, cookie-cutter houses we passed by.

"Once," I said, smiling at the memory. "My mum and stepdad took my siblings and I here for a little spring break vacation. They have a big shopping center down in the heart of the city. It's called the Mall of America, and it's _gigantic_."

"That sounds lovely," Harlow sighed, smiling out her window at two young kids playing in a sprinkler. "You have seven siblings, don't you?"

I nodded. "Seven. All younger. And you've got five, right?"

"Yes sir," she said. "All were older."

"I always wondered what it was like to be the youngest," I said thoughtfully. "I always whined that the younger kids got away with more. It was true though .. they did."

Harlow laughed, but shook her head. "I can't remember a time when I got away with anything, but none of my siblings ever did. I don't think I had what many people would consider a 'normal' childhood. Age was never really much of a cause for concern in my family. Frankly, nothing really was."

I smiled a little sadly, giving her a pat on the knee. "You turned out fine, though, didn't you?"

"We'll see," she said softly, but there was a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

We drove down another main street into a second suburb, this one a little larger then the last. The houses were bigger, cars were nicer - kids were better dressed. Harlow looked with sincere interest at each house, person and vehicle we passed by. I felt a wave of sadness pass through me - I found that I sometimes forgot the kind of home she came from. I always thought it was adorable how she'd look with absolute delight at every tiny detail in every different house, store, person, pet, car - whatever - that we passed. But the more I thought about it, the worse I felt.

She looked and took into account every detail because it was things she wasn't accustomed to seeing. Every time a family passed her on the street, she'd smile - watch them. Take in every bit of them. What was the baby wearing, what kind of stroller was it in? Were the parents holding hands? Where did I think they were going? Where had they just come from? Did they live around here? Did I think the parents were high school sweethearts? Minute little details, things I didn't ever think to bother considering, she memorized. She tattooed it into her brain. Their memories, their happy moments, they were hers as well. What other ones did she have?

I took for granted all the things I had when I was young. I didn't realize it until I'd met Lo, but I had. We all had. I remember being young and throwing a fit because my Mum wanted to take me back to school shopping. I'd whine and stomp my feet and tantrum, because I wanted to stay home instead. Play with my brother, ride my bike. I'd cause mayhem just because my Mother wanted to buy me a new shirt. But Harlow? I imagine the day her mom offered to take her to the mall to buy a shirt was the day hell froze over. Had she ever gone out shopping with her Mum before? Had her dad ever taken her out for lunch and then to a carnival? Had she ever had bike races with neighborhood kids? Did she even _know_ what a family barbecue was?

I had doubts about it all.

With a surge of overwhelming sadness, I took a hand off the steering wheel and grabbed hers in my own. She looked at me, surprised, but then smiled.

"What?" she asked, with a playful little squeeze of my palm. "Hands on the wheel, Buell - you're gonna crash."

"Am not," I argued, dragging her hand to my mouth. "I'm a good driver."

She laughed at the slobbery peck, but rubbed my palm lightly with her thumb. "You sweet boy. Get it all out before we get to the house, though - I got psychological evaluations to focus on, you're just gonna make it harder."

Resisting the urge to tell her that she made everything of mine harder (bah dum _tshhh_), I gave her hand another quick peck and pulled down Harrow Street, the location of our next shoot. I rolled to a stop outside of the second house from the corner, peering through Harlow's window at the wooden bungalow before us. The garden was a mess of wildflowers and weeds, and there were little toys littered all around the front yard. Unlike the rest of the houses along the block, this one was unkempt. Unhappy looking - there was a feeling of darkness seeping from it.

Harlow looked nervously at the home. "You sure this is the right house?"

I nodded, looking down at the sticky note next to me again. "One hundred and four, Harrow street. This is it."

"It looks so gloomy," she said softly, gathering her bookbag from her feet.

"Maybe it's better inside?" I shrugged.

She turned to look at me, hitching her sunglasses up on the top of her head. "Are we the first ones here?"

I shook my head, motioned towards a large SUV in front of ours. "Katrina, Heather and Sergey left thirty minutes before we did, that's probably them."

"Where are Eilfie and Josh?" she asked.

"With Michelle," I responded, shoving my cellphone into my jacket pocket. "Probably at the hotel."

"Who's Michelle?" she asked curiously.

"Psychic," I said. "Michelle Belanger - she's great, you'll really like her. She's a medium, _and_ she's a vampire."

"Oooh, a vampire?" Lo said, smiling brightly at the thought. "Does she have pointy teeth? Sleep in a coffin?"

"All of that, **and** she can only survive on human blood," I said, grinning at the thought of it. "You'll like her, just don't let her see that delicious neck of yours."

Harlow grabbed her throat, eyebrows raised in fear. "Not my neck!"

"Don't worry, _I'll_ protect you," I sighed, running a hand through her silky locks.

"Oh, my hero," she purred, grabbing my jacket and pulling me close.

Her lips connected with mine, and I felt that familiar rush of heat fill my whole body. Her chest pressed against mine, her scent that was all too appealing making my brain go numb. The warm touch of her hands on my face, my neck - it made me melt. She sensed it, that dirty girl, and her lips rose in a smile against my own.

"You're not fair, you know," I muttered, helpless against those hypnotic eyes.

She ran a hand through my hair, kneading the back of my head lightly with her thin fingers. "I never said I was, Buell."

Slowly, surely - with the unmatched skills of pro - she nipped my bottom lip, running her nose against mine. She smiled, her eyelashes tickling my cheek.

"C'mon," she said softly. "We gotta get in there."

"Oh, you tease," I sighed, unwilling to let the back of her neck go from my hand. "We'll continue this later."

"We better," she said, that undeniably silky purr tearing at my heart.

Oh Harlow. What you did to me and my manly bits - you'd _never_ know.

**(Michelle)**

"So wait ... if there'salready a psychic down there, why'd Ryan call me?"

Elf exchanged a rather dark look with Josh, and took a seat on the rough wooden chair behind her.

"It's a long story," she sighed.

"Harlow, that's her name, isn't it?" I pressed further. "I heard from Chip she has absolutely _astounding_ medium abilities. If that's true, why isn't Ryan allowing her to do the walk through?"

"She doesn't want to," Josh said simply, sprawling out in the tattered hotel armchair.

I frowned - they were being so vague, they were driving me batty. "If she doesn't want to, why's she there?"

"She's a psychologist," Eilfie explained, much more patiently then Josh. "Well, almost - another year and she'll be a licensed one. But you remember Jamie - the old psych? She's still on Maternity leave and we need someone to conduct the evaluations. Harlow's perfectly capable, and she'll do it for free."

"But why not kill two birds with one stone?" I reasoned, looking perplexed between the two. "Just because she doesn't want to doesn't mean she's not capable of it. Does she have something against the show?"

Josh sat up a little and his chair, frowning - he looked contemplatively at Eilfie.

"Well," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think she has anything against the show. She's just ... she doesn't really want people to know she's a 'psychic'. She's worried it'll tarnish her image, or something."

I shook my head. "That's a shame ... people are always so worried about their reputations. If she's as good as Chip made her out to be - she shouldn't be hiding this."

"I think there's more to the story then meets the eye," Eilfie said softly, tapping her foot against the chair leg. "Harlow's a very sweet person, don't get us wrong - but she's also very private."

"She knows she can help people, though, doesn't she?" I asked, looking between the two. "So many people have the wrong idea about psychics and mediumship - she could very well change people's minds, such a young girl. And a psychology major, that's something to boast about. She could really get her name out there, touch a lot of people's lives - help a lot of people struggling with their _own_ abilities."

Elf smiled, but there was an odd sadness behind the grin. "I think she's well aware of that, Michelle. I just don't think she's comfortable in front of the camera - or behind it, frankly. She hasn't had the easiest life, and the psychic abilities have really only hurt rather then helped her."

"She's more comfortable being a wallflower," Josh simplified, but there was funny smirk on his face. "Which, after you meet her, you'll realize is nearly impossible."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Eilfie smiled, but shook her head. "You'll see. We have to get going, though - dinner's on us, we'll take you to meet Ryan at about eight."

I nodded reluctantly, easing up off the cushy hotel bed. There were still a million questions blowing through my mind, and I couldn't shake them. Why were they being so secretive about this Harlow girl? It was clearly evident on **both** their faces that there was a lot they were hiding, or at least a lot that had gone unsaid. What had Chip meant when he said she was unlike any other medium he'd ever met, and unmatched in said abilities? Was she really one of a kind? And if so, why was she hiding _behind_ the camera? Isn't that what every college student wanted, a shot at fame?

Eilfie, clearly noticing the vacant expression on my face, reached an arm around my shoulders and gave a light squeeze.

"It'll all make sense," she said soothingly. "All in good time."

**(Heather)**

"Do you sense anything?"

Harlow glanced over at me, peering up from the eight thousand page (roughly) binder sitting in front of her on the dining room table. She looked quite lovely, and I meant that in the most sincerely creepy way possible. Her hair was particularly windswept and tousled, but in a sickeningly glamorous way. Her face was sleek, nearly makeup free. Skin aglow, eyes dazzling.

Oh sweet Jesus, I was going gay _again_.

DAMN YOU, HARLOW VINCENT. What **is** it about you that makes me want to feed you grapes on a lounge chair while singing 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' softly in your ear?

You alluring she-devil, leave my thoughts at once!

"I do," she said softly, her voice like the tinkling of a bell - _drool_. "Two separate things, actually - but I'm trying to block it out."

"Why would you do that?" I asked curiously - wasn't the whole _point_ of being psychic to try and tune **in** to different spirit chatter?

She smiled, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear ('_Oh_ _**no**__ Harlow, let __**me**__ do that, I want to touch your face, _thought creepy Tad)_._

"I'm here to do the psychology evaluations," she sighed, leaning back against the chair. "I don't know how good it'd look, trying to evaluate how sane a person is while talking to dead people on the side. Kinda gives the wrong impression, I think."

I laughed, but shrugged my shoulders. "I don't think it'd be all that terrible, y'know."

She smiled, but shook her head. "I'm just going to focus on the evaluations. It's the first time I've ever gone at it alone, y'know? Not been in a big group or had my Prof breathing down my neck. I need all the concentration I can get, I've got to ignore everything else."

"Fair enough," I said.

I peered over my shoulder through the large bay window behind us. It opened out to the spacious backyard of the Montague's, a middle class family living in the quaint suburban home in the middle of Minnesota. Out back, Ryan was seated in a rickety green patio chair with the lady of the house, Marie. Her head was stooped, and her hand kept dabbing daintily at her eyes. Awwwwe. Poor lady. It always broke my spunky little heart to see client's so upset over a haunting.

And boy oh boy, was it _ever_ a haunting.

The house was creepy. Let's not beat around the bush, alright? I'm sure back in it's glory days, it was beautiful and woodsy and purdy and all that fun junk. But today? Very creepy. Tres, _tres_ creepy. It was borderline rundown. The houses surrounding it were tall and well kept, all freshly painted, all gleaming and pristine. Marie's house? Well ... pristine wasn't really the word of the day. It was gloomy from the outside, but - if even possible - the inside was much, _much_ worse.

I imagine back when it was built, there wasn't a better house in the whole city. But time, it seemed, had worn down the old beauty. The wallpaper, which I assume was once bright and fresh was peeling and damp. The carpet reeked of mold, the stairs were creaky and the doors rattled on the hinges. If it weren't for the pictures and grubby pieces of furniture, the house could've easily been mistaken as deserted.

When Serge, Kat and I had pulled up, it struck us as very odd. Marie and her husband, Teddy - they weren't poor people, not by a longshot. Marie worked as an editor at the largest Newspaper business in the city. Teddy was a high school principal. Enough income, _easily_, to have fixed up the home. Done a little renos. Maybe put a splash of lime or fuchsia on the walls, y'know? Spunky funk this place up. But no work seemed to have been done.

I realized, with no real surprise, that I'd be gazing creepily at Ryan and Marie for a good five minutes now. They hadn't seemed to notice (thank **God**), as their heads were still bowed in quiet conversation. I turned back around to gaze at the lovely Harlow, and was caught by surprise - she wasn't peering down at her fat Psychology Bible anymore. She was looking in confusion out the dining room door and into the long hallway adjacent.

"Harlow?" I said, following her gaze into the hallway - mmm, nope. Nothin' there.

She jumped a little, turned to face me. Her skin was unusually pale, it's natural glow fizzled a little. Her eyes were distracted, and those precious little lips were down-turned in an unmistakable scowl. She shook it off a little, forced a smile.

"Sorry," she said, raking a hand through her hair. "Sorry. Gotta concentrate. Right."

She peered back down at her textbook, but her eyes remained stationary. She wasn't reading. Whatta liar.

"What'd you see?" I asked quietly, still peering haphazardly out into the dingy hall - nope, still nothin'. _Damn_ you, useless eyeballs! **DAMN YOU.**

She shook her head again, rubbing at her temples. "I didn't see anything. Just .. felt something."

"What kinda something?" I pressed, still staring down the long hallway - I think I was going cross-eyed. _Dammit!_

"Just a .. a weird something," she mumbled. "I don't know. I gotta ignore it. Just gotta ... ahhh _fuck_ it. I can't."

She slammed the cover of her textbook shut and swiveled around irritably in her chair. Eyes narrowed, she stared intently down the hallway, muttering something under her breath.

"I don't _see_ anything," I said, my usual unhelpful self. "Kat and Serge are driving back from the supermarket and Ryan and Marie are out back."

"Are there any production people here?" she asked, not daring to look away from the spot in the corridor. "Or Tia, where's she?"

Tia, Marie's five year old daughter, was the main reason we'd been called down here. She'd been having, as Marie called them, 'night terrors' for years now. They'd spent upwards of a thousand dollars on therapy for the little munchkin, but nothing seemed to be helping.

"She's out with Teddy," I said, remembering the two of them walking hand in hand out to Teddy's truck. "They won't be home for another hour or two."

Harlow shook her head, scooting right to the edge of her chair. She was fixated on one particular spot - her eyes hadn't moved away from it for nearly two minutes now. There was a strange look on her face. It kind of reminded me of a grimace, or like ... it looked as if she had some rotten smell directly under her nose. I don't know - it was really quite peculiar.

"Go down there," I offered, not seeing what harm it could do just to _look_, y'know? "If you think there's something there, you might as well go check it out, right?"

Harlow said nothing, and an odd silence filled the kitchen. I was pretty certain, actually, that she hadn't even heard me. Her whole body was turned away from me, focused and concentrating on whatever was out in the hallway. Her hands were balled into fists on her lap, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. Frankly, I didn't know what to do. I was terrible in tense situations, y'know? I didn't know whether to talk to her, start crying or grab an accordion and start dancing. Bah. I was so useless.

But, like the savior he is, our slightly tense moment was interrupted only a second later by the back door clanking shut, and the footsteps of Ryan moving closer. He popped his head into the dining room, smiling, but that grin vanished a moment later. He looked between myself and Harlow - who didn't seem to have heard him come in - and frowned.

"Everything alright in here?" he asked slowly, focusing more on Lo then myself.

"Think so," I responded quietly, waiting for Harlow to snap back into reality. "She thinks she heard something."

"Harlow?" Ryan said, looking curiously at the back of her head and stepping into the dim room. "Lo, you hear something?"

She turned to look at him, face ashen, but she shook her head a second later. "No. Maybe. I don't know. I might've just imagined it."

Ryan looked out into the dark hallway, clearly attempting (much like me) to see something that most definitely wasn't there. Well. Not to _our_ eyes, anyways.

"What did you think you heard?" he asked calmly, rooted to the spot.

Harlow looked at him thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. "I .. I don't know. Weird nose. Like, gurgling. Something, I don't know. I might've just imagined it."

"You don't seem too sure about imagining it," Ryan noted.

Harlow blinked, but shrugged her shoulders. She peered back down at her nine million page binder, and tapped a finger on it.

"I'm trying to block all that junk out," she sighed, looking between the two of us with those lusty gorgeous globes of green - oh _**swoon**_. "There's a lot going on in my head. I probably just imagined hearing something."

Ryan, who was clearly as smitten with her angelic face as I was (back off Buell, those jugs are **mine**), still didn't look convinced. He peered out into the backyard, then down at me.

"Tad, would you mind going out there for a couple minutes?" he asked, motioning with his chin to Marie. "I just need to talk to Harlow for a minute. Can you keep Marie company? Tell her Lo will be right out."

WHAT? I WAS GOING TO MISS OUT ON A POTENTIAL WALK THROUGH? I WAS MISSING MY OPPORTUNITY TO HIT ON HARLOW TO GO CHILL ON A LAWN CHAIR? BULLSHIT, BUELL. BULL. **SHIT**.

"Oh sure, love to," I mumbled, shooting Ryan _the_ most scathing look a Taddy has ever shot.

...

_EVER._

**(Harlow)**

"What'd you hear?"

I didn't say anything for a minute, I just watched as Heather crossed the backyard and took a seat across from Marie Montague, the lady who owned the house. She was a slightly heavy-set woman, with bouffanty brown hair and a kind face. I had yet to meet her face to face, but I had a good vibe the moment I saw her.

Realizing I could no longer ignore the question, I turned towards Ryan who had taken a seat next to me at the table. Those brilliantly chocolate brown eyes looked at me curiously. Not judgementally, mind you, but more with concern and intrigue. Ahhh. Damn him. I couldn't lie to that face.

I leaned forward a little, clasping my hands together tightly. I didn't really know where to begin ... how to explain what I'd heard. What I'd _seen_, actually.

"There's something in the house," was all I managed to come up with. Brilliant, Harlow. Brilliant.

"A person, or .. or a spirit, or what?" he asked.

"Spirit," I said softly, hearing the faint static in my brain - it always meant there was something close. "Two of them, actually."

He looked puzzled out through the dining room door, down the long hallway. I knew he was trying to see something - knew just as well that he wouldn't.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I know my job is to do the psych evaluations, but ... I'm not like Chip, Ryan. I can't figure out how to turn this off, this .. this _thing_. Everywhere I go, it goes with me. I can't block it out, no matter how hard I try. It's .. it's really frustrating."

Ryan shook his head. "Don't apologize, Lo, really. You can't help it. Some people can turn it on and off, you can't. Don't apologize for who you are."

I smiled, unable to stop the hammering of my heart - my _God_ he was a fucking sweetheart.

"What did you sense?" he asked me, taking another uncomfortable glance down the darkened hallway.

I thought back, focusing more on the minutes before. The static in my brain had calmed down a bit, was less overbearing. The spirit that had come so close to the kitchen only minutes ago was stepping back. Going into hiding, it felt like.

"Well," I said slowly, trying to piece it together. "It was like a .. a gurgling, like I said. A weird, like ... liquidy noise."

"Liquidy?" he asked, frowning a little. "What do you mean, liquidy?"

"Like .. I think it was breathing," I said, coming clean - I knew it sounded ridiculous, but it'd been what I had heard. "It was noisy. Like someone with liquid in their lungs, it sounded all bubbly and raspy and .. well, and _gurgley_."

He frowned, deeper yet, but the look on his face was not disbelief - it was perplexion.

"Is that all you heard?" he asked, fidgeting with his notepad in front of him.

"No," I said, feeling an uncomfortable breeze around my neck. "I heard that first, and then I heard footsteps. And the louder the footsteps got, the louder the gurgling noise was. And then I turned around."

"What did you see?"

"Nothing," I sighed, looking crossly down at my hands. "Nothing."

"There was no one there?" he said, looking unsure.

"I think there was," I said, trying to explain without sounding like a complete lunatic. "I heard it, I know I heard something. It wasn't like anything I'd heard before and it wasn't something that can be explained. And I _know_ it came from the hallway, I heard it. Not just once but for a good, solid thirty seconds. I turned around, but .. I couldn't see anything. I could just sense it. That's why I thought maybe I imagined it, because that's how my brain works - I hear something, I see where it's coming from. This time .. there was nothing."

Brow furrowed, Ryan looked between myself, the hallway and the large bay window behind him. He seemed to try to be putting the pieces together, much like I was. Pffft. I hope he'd have better luck than I had. Stupid brain.

"You didn't see .. like, a shadow? Or an outline, or anything?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. I could sense something there, though .. I know there was something or some_one_ out in that hallway. I just ... I couldn't see them. That's why I was looking for so long. I was trying to focus, but ... nothin'. I don't get it. It must've been hiding or something. I _always_ see them. If they're here, if they're present, if they're haunting a place - I see them. But I didn't see anything this time .. nothing."

Ryan nodded, fiddling absentmindedly with a pen in front of him.

"Well," he said slowly, biting his lip. "Maybe it's just a residual thing, y'know? Maybe it's not here, it's just .. imprinted?"

"I smelt it," I blurted out, flushing with embarrassment. "I smelt it, too."

"You _smelt_ it?" he asked, this time with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"I know, I know," I said, raking a hand through my hair irritably. "It sounds ridiculous. But I heard the noise. The gurgling noise. And then I heard the footsteps. And I turned around and nothing was there. But the footsteps were gone. The gurgling, it was louder than ever. But this time, it wasn't just the noise ... I smelt something."

"What did you smell?"

"Like ... rancid meat. That kind of sweet odor that rotting meat has, you know? Not pleasantly sweet, rank and rotten. I don't know what the smell was, or what it was coming from, but I smelt it. It smelt like sweet and rotten, and like .. metal. I've never smelt anything so _peculiar_."

"Did Heather smell it, too?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, I didn't ask ... but if she had, I think she would've said something."

Ryan nodded, but was looking strange and very pale. His eyes were narrowed, and I could almost hear the gears clicking in his head.

"Harlow," he said, very slowly. "This is .. this is a weird question, but .. have you ever smelt burning flesh before?"

I blinked. "What?"

"I know," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I told you it was a weird question. But .. have you?"

I shook my head slowly. "No ... not that I can remember. Why?"

"People who've smelt it," he explained. "Paramedics, doctors - soldiers. They all have. And they describe it as a sickeningly sweet, rotten, metallic smell. Acrid."

I frowned. "That sounds like what I smelt, but ... why would I be smelling burning flesh?"

Ryan shook his head, genuine confusion flitting across that handsome face. "I really, _really_ don't know."

We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant ticking of a clock. Neither one of us looked at each other, as we sat unmoving in the dim light of the dining room. I sat still, trying to listen for the noise again. Trying to smell that same, pungent scent. Trying to visualize, bring the spirit closer. Ryan sat quite still too, but I don't think it was for the same reason that I was.

"Harlow," he said quietly, looking thoughtfully across the table at me. "You don't ... you don't want to do a walk-through, do you?"

I took a deep breath, sighed. "Not ... not now. I just want to do the psychology evaluations. I need to focus on that."

He nodded, clasping two hands in front of him. "Fair enough."

"I can .. I can do one after," I said, trying to be reasonable. "After I interview Marie and Tia. But ... no cameras."

"Absolutely," he said, with a slight nod. "That'll be fine. I'll give Elf and Josh a call, tell them to hold tight with Michelle. You and I can do a quick walk-through before we leave. While you're interviewing her, I'll go and fill them in on what's happening."

I nodded, peering out the large bay window again. Marie sat quietly, looking through the window back at me. I ignored the static growing in my brain, and grabbed my binder from in front of me.

"Alright," I said, rising from my seat. "I shouldn't be longer than an hour with Marie."

"Okay," he said, rising out of his as well. "I'll be back in thirty minutes. Tops."

I nodded, and moved towards the back door. I felt a light pull on my waist, and turned to see Ryan directly behind me. There was something strange about his face. There was longing, confusion, stress, worry. But there was a glow of something crackling behind his eyes. Something I didn't immediately recognize, but something that made my heart flutter.

"Good luck with your interview," he said, that curious blaze still lighting up his pupils.

I smiled, rising up on my tippy toes to give him a soft peck on the lips.

"Thanks," I said, rubbing his lean arm gently. "I'll see you in a bit."

He nodded, returned the peck, and was gone from my sight in a flash. I felt my knees give a slight shudder, and I pulled my binder tight against my chest. Oh, that _asshole_.

He was **so** swoon-worthy, it was _ridiculous._

**(Marie)**

_"_Tell me a bit about Tia."

To be honest, I was finding it hard to concentrate on anything at the moment - even my daughter.

The young woman in front of me - who couldn't have been any older then twenty five, twenty six - sat pleasantly across the table. She looked with polite attentiveness at me, and I felt suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious. It was hard not to - she was absolutely _mesmerizing_.

The richest, most beautiful hair I'd ever laid eyes on. The bright globes of green, the long lashes. Her flawless skin, tanned and smooth. Brilliantly white teeth, plush pink lips. She looked so much like a goddess - how could anyone that looked like this possibly have been a psychologist? Weren't people like this models? Movie stars? What was she doing in the backyard of a rundown old house talking to me, for? It seemed obscene.

I tried to shake off the horrific nervousness and embarrassment settling in the pit of my stomach, and I focused entirely on my little girl's face. I smiled, remembering those dimples, that curly blonde hair - my little angel.

Across from me, the young beauty (Harlow, she'd said), smiled at me.

"Every time one of us mentions Tia, I see you smile."

"Really?" I asked, flustered. "I didn't even notice."

She grinned even more and nodded. "It's an unconscious reaction to her name - all it shows me is that you love her."

"I do," I said, nodding in agreement. "More than life itself."

"Tell me about her," Harlow said softly. "What does she like to do? What's her favorite colors? Does she like night time, day time? How does she do in school?"

"She's a happy girl," I said, another smile lighting up my face. "Singing and dancing - we always joke she's going to be on Broadway one day, the way she belts out all her favorite songs. And ... she's a real princess, you know? Pink and purple everything. She went through a couple months when she was three where all she wore, day in and day out, was this sequined violet tutu. She loved it, just _adored_ it."

"Epitome five year old girl," Harlow laughed, folding her hands over her notepad serenely. "She attends pre-Kindergarten classes, correct?"

I nodded. "Yes, Selkirk Elementary school."

"Tell me how she does in school."

"Quite well," I said thoughtfully. "She's got a lot of little friends, mostly girls. They're at the whole 'cooties' age. She loves art, and she loves music class. Doesn't like math very much, and she hates the journal writing. But everything else she loves, especially recess. A real outdoorsy kind of girl."

Harlow nodded, jotting something down quickly on her notepad. "I was never a fan of math, can't say I really blame her. But journal writing, that's peculiar - most adolescents, especially females, love creative writing."

"It's not creative writing so much as the dream journals and everything," I explained. "Her teacher makes her write in a dream log every week. She's supposed to recount one dream she had over the last seven days, illustrate it, write one sentence about it underneath."

"Have you seen her dream log before?" she asked. "Has she brought it home, or have you seen it at a parent-teacher interview?"

"I saw it at our last interview," I admitted, wishing I had shut my mouth about the journal in the first place. "Her teacher showed us."

"What sort of illustrations did Tia draw?" Harlow asked gently, and although I'd refused to talk about the subject with any of the other family members, there was something so sweet and earnest about her. I felt comfortable talking to her, even though the topic was hard to open up about.

"Well ... not very happy ones," I sighed. "They all had monsters in them."

Harlow nodded, but didn't look particularly bothered by this bit of information - it made me relax a little.

"Did the teacher express any concerns with Tia's log?" she asked calmly.

"She thought it was strange," I said quietly. "She showed me the other student's drawings, and they were all bright and colorful and ... vivid. Tia's were all in black and dark purples and blues."

"Did you talk to Tia at all about her dream log?" Harlow asked.

I nodded. "When we got home that evening, I asked her about them. She said she always dreams of 'the monsters in the house', and that she hates dream logs. Personally, I don't understand why the teacher makes them do those damned things anyways .. what educational purpose does that have? My husband agrees with me, and he's a principal, you know ... doesn't make any sense. Not teaching them anything."

Harlow shrugged her thin shoulders, a pleasantly crooked half smile on her thin face.

"We'll come back to the dream logs in a few moments, if you don't mind," she said gently, scribbling a few more notes I was unable to decipher onto her paper. "What did Tia mean, 'the monsters in the house'? Do you know?"

I looked uncomfortably down at my shoes. "The ghosts, or whatever they are. The things in the house that bother her."

Harlow nodded, writing quicker yet across the pad. "She see's these 'ghosts', then?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous," I started, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "But - "

"It doesn't," Harlow said softly, reaching a hand across the table and patting mine. "Really Marie - it doesn't sound ridiculous at all."

I smiled, fighting back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. "I'm sorry ... I just - it's hard to talk about, you know?"

"I do," she said quietly, giving my fingers a light squeeze. "But that's why I'm here. I'm not going to judge you or ridicule you. I'm here to help you through this."

I nodded. "You're right .. you are. Tia, she see's ... she calls them 'monsters'. She's never used the word ghost, that's just me."

"Why do you use that word?" she asked.

I shrugged. "It's what they are, aren't they? We can't see them, but I can .. I can _feel_ them, sometimes. I can hear them walking down the hallways. And Tia - Tia thinks she can **see** them. She tells me all the time about the scary man in the house."

Harlow nodded, making a few more notes on the bottom of the notepad. "You hear them, you said?"

"Yes, I do. All the time. Footsteps, and sometimes I hear crying. And a watery noise .. it sounds like someone blowing through a straw into a cup of water."

Harlow looked up at me, the pen limp in her hand. "Watery?"

I nodded, flushing again. "I don't know what it is .. but we hear it a lot. At least four, five times a week. Always at night. Always in the hallway."

Harlow said nothing for a minute, but there was a faint crease in her brow. She looked thoughtfully down at her paper, tapping her pen against the nearly full sheet. There was an odd look behind her eyes - it looked like she was struggling to remember something. Or to forget. One of the two. But she looked troubled.

"That is strange," she agreed, continuing on with her notes like nothing had happened. "But I assure you, if something's going on in the home, Ryan and the rest of his team will get to the bottom of it. They're the best in the business."

I nodded, leaning back in my chair. "I sure hope so."

Harlow smiled. "They will."

"As long as they figure out where that _smell's_ coming from, I think I'll be alright."

She peered up at me from her paper, look of confusion etched onto that beautiful face. "Smell?"

I nodded, cringing at the mere memory of it. "Yes. The footsteps and weird noise and crying, it's a pain but I can handle that. It's that _smell_, I just can't take it. Smells like charred flesh."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HEYOOOOO. Back from my skiing trip! If you'd like an idea of how well I did skiing, please go to Youtube, type in Ski Fail and click on the second video. That, in a nutshell, was my adventure. Not. Even. Joking. SO, NOW I'M BACK. Bruised, grumpy, fractured and in pain, but DAMMIT I'M BACK. And what do I find when I get back? LIKE 10 REVIEWS, YOU AMAZING LOVELY BEAUTIFUL UNDENIABLY SEXY REVIEWERS! I must begin my thank you's, for they will undoubtedly take up half this chapter!

**xSyndarinx: **THREE WHOLE REVIEWS. have i ever told you how much i love you? no? yes? maybe? no matter. I LOVE YOU. it's people like you who truly make an author's whole writing experience worthwhile. hugs, kisses and dark alley snuggles to you, my love!

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction: **reading your review had me very conflicted. on one hand, i was thrilled you enjoyed the chapter that much. on the other hand, i pooped my pants a little at the fact that you nearly died on account of my story. so after hours of long pondering, i decided to go with the flattered route. so to you, i say: ksdfhdsjgdhke AWE THANKS MY LOVE! and i'd also like to extend the olive branch - my little bro works at starbucks, so i will get him to send you a cinnamon dulce latte free of charge, since it's partially my fault you lost your other one. let's hug and never let go. (L)

**futureauthor62:** you're back, you're back, you're back! my goodness i haven't heard from you in forever, i was about to call the milk carton company! D: HAH! i think this is proof we're meant to be together forever, because i have a doggie named bear! and my dad drives a harley davidson? so ... is that a coincidence? or am i just nuts? just nuts? yes, i thought so. regardless, HELLO! i missed you! thank you for the review! xoxo

**heyymelx3:** OHHAI SOUL SISTER. not even kidding you, i think we really are long lost siblings. there was a criminal minds marathon on A&E the other night, like, a 10 hour long one, and i legit sat on my ass with no pants on and a tub of ice cream and watched the ENTIRE thing. did i feel bad? hell no. i felt great. i yelled at the screen, flung ice crea, everywhere, didn't bathe - my mother even came up the stairs and told me i was a slob, but did i care? HELLLLLLLZ NO. can we please have a pantsless ice cream criminal minds marathon one day? then after that we can burn off all the calories by chasing ryan around. new life mission. thanks for the review, you adorable little ball of sisterness! good luck on all your schoolwork, poor lady :(

**nouseforaname89:** ooooh hello hello! thank you for your review! and thank you for wishing me a good time on my skiing trip! although instead of 'have fun' i wish you would've said 'DON'T GO IDIOT YOU CAN'T SKI'. but i suppose i can't blame you, you hardly know me. for future reference though, anytime you read a chapter and i mention in the a/n that i'm doing something that is potentially dangerous, tell me not to. i nearly impaled myself and eight little children with a ski pole. :( THANK YOU FOR READING, you're so wonderful!

**WinchesterAngel3389:** oh. my. god. i could not ask for a better best friend! although, just pointing this out there, a best friend would've told me not to go on the ski trip because not only would my life be in danger, but everyone else on the slopes life would be too :( interesting fact number one about your new best friend; i have the athletic abilities of a blind crippled dead kid. but thank you for your review and accepting my BFF offer, you've made my life a sunny slice of heaven. now let us hold hands and flaunt our love to the world.

**akahitoha: **anytime i get an alert saying you've reviewed, my whole heart explodes and then i die but luckily i'm put together by the modern miracle of fanfiction. you are such a wonderful, cheerful, smiley face usin' love bug and i adore you! thank you for the review you beautiful akahitohawwwwwwtie! let's go build snowmen and name them Ellahitoha. xox

**kcollins720:** HELLO MY EVERFAITHFUL REVIEWER. you know what makes me go awwwwwe? YOU MAKE ME GO AWWWWWWE. i'm sending you a virtual basket of love and hugs and flowers and undying affection, just for being such a great reader. love forever and ever!

**XDeadlyImperfectionX:** it's official. i'm making you a 'Team Harlow' t-shirt. and i'm going to send it to you. and then i'm gonna sell them online and in every major department store around the world, and all profits will go to you, because although you may be XDeadlyImperectionX, to me you are 'XSIMPLYPERFECTIONX. your long ass review made me squeal so much and so loud and so long that i passed out, and when i came to, i realized that i loved you. thank you thank you thank you!

**PSUPRS:** SORA, HELLO MY DARLING. you look like a giraffe when you ski? please. i invite you to come and watch me ski. i don't look like a giraffe, i look more like a puffy marshmellow man who is doing cartwheels/flailing down the slopes. and even from hundreds of feet away, it's said you can still see the look of terror/distress on my snow white face. it's a legend, of course, but i welcome you to come and check it/me out. you broke your wrist! my heart bleeds for you! no more skiing, you stay safe at home and be warm and adorable and wonderful like you already are! thank you for the review you beautiful ball of love!

MAN OH MAN YOU GUYS ARE ACTUALLY THE GREATEST.

I have yet to even start on the next chapter, but if all goes well and I'm not stuck at work for eight hours a day ALL week, next update should be up by next Wednesday! WISH ME LUCK!

*prances off*

**love;**

ELLAH!


	21. Are You Guyz Married TooGedder?

**Chapter Twenty**

Are You Guyz Married Too-Gedder?

**(Katrina)**

"They're still out there?"

I peered over my shoulder and gave a quick nod. "Still talking, it looks like."

Serge stepped next to me, looking out into the tangled mess of the Montague's back yard. Marie was sitting hunched over the table, talking quickly to Harlow across from her. Lo sat quite still, scribbling incessently on her notepad, nodding and listening intently to Marie. The two women had been out there nearly an hour now, with no signs of breaking anytime soon.

"Seems to be opening up to Harlow," Serge noted, grabbing his mug of coffee off of the counter. "I didn't think she would."

"It's remarkably easy to talk to Lo," I said. "There's something about her ... "

"There's a _lot_ about her," Serge mumbled, taking a sip from his cup.

In the foyer, we heard the front door snap shut and the muffled voices of two males and a high pitched squeak of a young girl float into the kitchen. Seconds later, the curly blonde hair of Tia bounced into the kitchen, followed by the rest of her tiny little figure. Teddy, her tall, lanky father and Ryan padded in after her.

"Look who's home!" I said excitedly, kneeling down to greet Tia with open arms. "Hello, munchkin!"

She squealed in delight and flung herself into my arms - my **God** she was a cutie! Tightly curled white blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a forever happy smile splattered across her pale face, Tia Montague was - quite potentially - the most adorable little girl I'd ever met in my life. It was hard to look at her and believe the stories we'd heard. Y'know - the night terrors, the incessant crying, the fear of being alone in the night time. When you looked at her now, all you really saw was a bright, happy, cheerful little four year old.

It never ceased to amaze me how dark and deep a haunting could go.

I lifted her up into my arms, laughing as she nuzzled that warm little face into the crook my my neck. I _loved_ kids. **Especially **cute kids!

"Marie's still outside?" Teddy asked, resting a hand on Tia's back and peering out into the backyard. "Is that the psychologist?"

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, as far as I know they should be wrapping up the conversation within the next few minutes or so."

Teddy nodded, squinting a bit to make out Harlow's face. It was hidden relatively well in the setting sun, but it was still quite easy to tell - even from this distance and in this light - how remarkable Harlow's face really was.

"Am I supposed to talk to her as well?" Teddy asked, turning to Ryan.

Ryan smiled, but shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not entirely sure. That's really up to Harlow - the psychologist. I don't know how much information she needs for her evaluations, but I'm sure she'll let you know."

Teddy nodded, and turned bright eyes over to his young daughter. She was humming contently, leaning against my shoulder and smiling brilliantly up at her father.

"Da, what's Mama doo .. doing out day-yur?"

"She's talking to her friend," Teddy explained, giving her tiny little hand a squeeze. "Mama's almost done, she'll come inside in a couple of minutes."

Teddy turned to Ryan again, and motioned with his head out to the backyard. "This Harlow - she's a licensed psychologist, is she?"

"She will be next year," Ryan said calmly. "She's graduating next April."

"So technically she's not really a doctor or anything yet," he asked, rather skeptically.

Serge and I exchanged nervous glances, but Ryan - surprisingly, for him - kept his cool.

"Not a doctor, no," he said, with a small smile. "I don't think she's going for a doctorate, actually. She'll have her Bachelor's by the end of this semester, and next year she'll have her Masters."

"Is it really advised that you bring in a trainee?" Teddy asked, with a slight air of impatience in his voice. "She's just a student. You wouldn't allow a Med student to perform open heart surgery."

"Fortunately psychology and cardiology are two very different things," Ryan said simply, folding his hands casually in his lap. "I trust Harlow's abilities in therapy as much - or perhaps _more_ - than I trust anyone else's. Rest assured, Mr. Montague, she's one of the best."

Teddy opened his mouth to retort, but was cut short by the creaking and snap of the back door. A second later, Harlow and Marie both padded up the back stairs and into the kitchen. Marie's eyes were rather puffy and her face was a bit pink and blotchy, but nonetheless, she looked a sight happier then she had a little over an hour ago. Harlow looked quite calm and relaxed on the surface, but there was a strange, underlying light of stress behind her eyes. Silently, she took in the people of the room with polite interest, but didn't move from her spot at the top of the stairs.

Tia wiggled uncomfortably in my arms, and I let her down. She ran over to her Mum, launching herself into her arms. Marie picked her up easily, swinging her back and forth as Tia squealed in delight. Harlow's face shone with adoration, and a little spark of jealousy, behind Marie's back. Lo seemed to notice the rather stiff figure of Teddy next to Ryan, and she moved forward a few paces, shooting a glance at Ryan hesitantly. He gave a curt little nod, and moved back a fraction of an inch.

"Mr. Montague," Harlow said politely, extending a hand to him - he took it, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. "It's nice to meet you - my name is Harlow Vincent, I'm the psychologist on the case."

"Oh - hi, yes. _Yes_. Right, nice to meet you," he stammered, causing Sergey and I to both look away grinning - it was such a natural reaction to meeting Harlow for the first time, we couldn't help ourselves. "Just uh - just Teddy, is fine, Miss Vincent."

"And Harlow will suffice as well," she said, with a friendly albeit unintentionally knee-buckling smile. "I've heard a lot about you - good things, rest assured."

He laughed uncomfortably, fighting against his brain on whether or not to keep staring awestruck at Harlow or turn reluctantly to look back at his wife. "Oh, well - that's, that's funny. Good, as long as they were good, right?"

Harlow nodded, smiling slightly as she turned away from Teddy. Although the majority of the time I was quite positive she didn't really have any concept of how people saw her, it was moments like this when I was sure she intentionally ignored it. She looked slightly awkwardly away from him, focusing her attention more on Tia and Marie across the room.

"Did you need to interview me as well?" he asked Harlow, looking almost _hopefully_ at the side of her head.

She shook her head, smiling politely. "No need, really. I have the majority of information I wanted, I just need to speak to Tia for a little bit and I should be alright."

At the sound of her name, Tia peered up from her mother's legs. She'd wrapped herself lovingly around Marie's knees, and was looking at Harlow with sheer delight and fascination. Even children, in this case not even older then four, were slightly baffled by the simple _appearance_ of Lo. Harlow smiled, taking a few cautious steps over to the two ladies. She knelt down a little, so she was on level with Tia's sparkling blue eyes.

"You must be Tia," she said softly, friendly smile playing at her plush lips.

"Yeah," Tia said, unwrapping an arm from around Marie's leg. "Hi."

"Hello," Lo said, resting her hands delicately on her knees. "I'm Harlow."

"Hair-low," Tia repeated, gazing with sincere intrigue at Lo's calm, welcoming face. "Hi, Hair-low."

Harlow grinned, reaching out an arm, palm up. "I like your house, Tia. Would it be okay if you show me around?"

Tia hesitated a moment, peering up at her Mum. Marie gave a nod, smiling warmly at her young daughter. "Go on, Tee. Harlow's a very nice lady."

Tia grinned and took a hold of Harlow's small hand in her own tiny little white one. Harlow bounced back to her feet, hand holding Tia's loosely in her own, and followed her out of the kitchen and into the dark hallway to the left of it.

"Tia doesn't usually trust people," Marie said, looking quite baffled at the empty spot where her daughter had been just a second ago. "That's ... that's a first, most definitely."

"There's just something about Harlow," I said softly, smiling at the soft chatter coming from the hallway.

"There's a _lot_ about her," Ryan, Teddy and Serge all muttered in unison.

**(Harlow)**

"This is a _very_ pretty room, Tia."

She smiled up at me, that adorable little face scrunched with sincere thrill.

"Iz pink, my favorite color," she said cheerfully, flopping down on her canopy bed.

I took in the room, my stomach flopping uncomfortably. I couldn't imagine having a room this nice when I was her age - it was epitome little girl. The walls were pink, a bright and cheery tone that clashed with the rest of the dark and gloomy home. Her bed, a light oak canopy, was filled with silky blankets, fat stuffies and poofy, patchworked pillows. There was a toy chest across from the bed, nearly overflowing with different stuffed animals and dolls and a white dresser with tiny little roses painted all along the sides. Various pictures and artwork were taped haphazardly on the walls and there was a large, purple easel set in the far corner.

Nearest to me and the doorway, there was a tiny little plastic table, complete with a little tea set and two tiny wooden chairs. I smiled - what I would've done for even _one_ stuffed animal when I was Tia's age, never mind a chest full of them. I motioned to the little table in front of me.

"Can I sit down?" I asked.

Tia nodded, squirming around happily on her bed. "You wann tea?"

I laughed, sitting rather cautiously on the tiny little chair - hoping to **God** my fat ass wouldn't crumple it. "I would love some."

She hopped off of her bed and skipped across the room, taking a seat across from me. She hummed off tune and loudly, fiddling around with her tea kettle.

"I love your room," I said, looking around again in spite of myself. "Do you like your room?"

She nodded, pouring a cup of air-tea into my cup. "Well, iz oh-tay. Sometimes doe, iz _scay-ree_."

"Thank you," I said, taking my tea and sipping at it casually. "It's scary? It sure doesn't look scary."

"No cuz iz still the day time," she said, rolling her eyes - how _silly_ us adults could be.

"Ohh, I see. So it's only scary during the night time?"

Tia nodded, slurping noisily at her own empty mug. "All da time at night time. I don't liiike to be hee-yur."

"Oh that's a shame," I said sadly, taking another sip. "Why don't you like to be here?"

"Becuz of the scay-ree man," she said simply, nibbling on a fake cookie. "He iz not vairy nice. Peter iz scay-erred of him, too."

"Really? That must be terrible," I said sympathetically, attempting without much success to ignore the static erupting in my brain. "Who's Peter, is that your friend?"

"Yah," she said. "He'z eight years old and he mizzez his Mama and Dada."

"Why doesn't he go home?" I asked, wincing a bit at the explosion of energy ravaging my head. "If he misses his Mommy and Daddy so much, he should just go home, shouldn't he?"

"He **iz** home," she said in exasperation. "He lives here all da time."

"May I have another cup of tea?"

"Otay."

We both sat in silence for minute, as I pondered over her words. I'd sensed a spirit the moment I'd stepped in the house. The longer I stayed, the more I picked up on a second one, entirely different then the first one I had connected with. The original force was a negative one - it scared even _me_. It was overbearing, it followed you - it was what gave this house such gloom. The second one was nearly impossible to focus on. It was skiddish, it did it's best to avoid being noticed. Even now, while I was trying my very best to hone in on that one little spirit that was hiding, I could barely even concentrate. The first one's depression and mope was too overbearing.

I took the little porcelain glass in my hands, feeling the smooth ridges with my thumbs. Tia was looking placidly at her closet doors, no longer humming. I turned a bit too, trying to see what she did. I frowned - she was definitely on to something. Something was inside of that closet - I could feel it.

"What are you looking at?" I asked her calmly, taking another sip from my mug.

"Peter," she replied, looking with legitimate concern at the closed doors. "He lives in my closet."

"That doesn't sound very nice," I said, straining my mind against the misery and trying instead to focus on the energy in the closet. "Why doesn't he come out and have some tea with us?"

"He'z scay-yured of growned ups," she said, matter-of-factly.

I smiled and shrugged. "Do you think he'll want to talk to me?"

"Maybe," she responded.

I stood up, walking slowly to the closet doors. Tia eyed me, not uneasily but with a distinct look of interest. I stopped next to the fold out doors, and looked over at her.

"Do you want to come talk to Peter, too?" I asked.

She shook her head.

I took hold of the handle and gave a gentle tug - the doors wheeled open slowly, revealing a spacious closet packed tight with the brightest pink, purple and white bunch of dresses I'd ever seen. There were little shoes all along the bottom - sandals, runners, sparkly little high heels. But it was the pair of shoes in the back corner that struck as me as odd. Dirty, very old fashioned brown buckled ones.

But what struck me as even more odd were the lanky little legs sprouting from them.

**(Ryan)**

"So the psychic will be here when, then?"

I took a quick glance at my watch, attempting to hide my smile. Oh, if they only knew. Knew that the girl who'd just interviewed them, the one who was _literally_ judging their sanity, was the psychic. They'd never believe me, that was for sure. But I'd kill to see the look on their faces. Who knew there was such thing as a hot medium?

"Tomorrow," I said. "The production crew and everything are meeting with me tomorrow at around noon, we'll be here at one o'clock, if that's alright."

"Will Harlow still be here?" Marie asked, looking rather hopeful.

I smiled. "She'll be here tomorrow for a couple of hours, but then she'll be heading back to school. She can't miss a bunch of classes."

"Oh," Marie sighed, looking slightly crestfallen. "That's a shame ... she's such a lovely girl."

I nodded, attempting to ignore the slightly doe-eyed expression passing over Teddy's face. "She is. Great with kids - trust me, Tia's in good hands."

"I had no doubts," Marie said with a small smile.

The phone rang from the dining room, and Teddy excused himself to get it. Marie turned to Heather and Katrina and began a low conversation with the two of them, while I was left alone at the table to my thoughts.

The house, I'd admit, was giving off a very strange energy. I've never been particularly sensitive to the paranormal, but I could feel something in the home. It wasn't a negative energy, persay. But it was something. You felt like you were being watched at all times. Even in the backyard today with Marie, there was something strange, some odd feeling I had, and it all came back to their home. I'd seen my entire team react the same way as I had - slightly paranoid, confused. It wasn't just me, that was for sure.

And what about Harlow? She'd seen something, or at least _heard_ something. I'd come to trust Harlow's predictions more than just about any medium I'd met before, or even worked with. I'd seen firsthand the things she was able to pick up on, the things she could feel just from the energy in a room. And, as lovely and brilliant as she was, she was a terrible liar. I'd only known her a little over a month, but she was easier to read then a book. When something was bothering her, aggravating her, upsetting her - you could surely tell.

The walk-through tonight would be interesting. It wouldn't be a normal one. We wouldn't have the entire home to ourselves - quite the opposite. It would be packed with different members of my team, along with the whole Montague family. It would have to be discreet. But that was alright - anything to make Harlow more comfortable. And I assumed she'd be picking up on a decent amount of things from her chat with Tia, as well.

There were faint footsteps coming from the hall outside, and the chatter in the kitchen stopped immediately. As the kitchen fell into silence, so did the footsteps. The house was quiet - strangely so. I could no longer hear Tia's high pitched voice, hear the soft murmur of Harlow's. There was the faint glugging of the fish tank somewhere in the distance, but that was it.

A second later, the footsteps started again and Tia and Harlow entered the kitchen, Lo's hand still grasped firmly by Tia's small but strong fingers. Tia looked nervous but cheerful. Harlow's face was a different story. A forced calm illuminated it. There was a stiff smile on her face, but there was a strange flash of terror behind her pupils. Her face was noticeably paler, and she was walking with a slight shiver. What'd I tell you? Her face - and body language, now that I think about it - was an open book.

"Where are you girls headed?" Marie asked, clearly oblivious to the fear masked on Harlow's face.

"Ow-side," Tia responded, marching happily past the group of people.

I wasn't alone, I realized, in sensing the clear distress in Lo's eyes: from behind Marie, Heather and Katrina's faces were identical looks of concern.

"She wants to show me her tulips," Harlow said brightly, that forced smile still plastered on her face.

"Oh, she's so proud of those," Marie cooed, giving a small wave as Harlow and Tia disappeared out the back door.

Teddy returned from the other room, and he and Marie both peered adoringly out the window at the two figures of Harlow and Tia in the setting sunlight. Unbeknownst to them, myself, Katrina and Heather were all exchanging looks of pure panic - something had clearly spooked Harlow.

But what?

**(Harlow)**

"These are beautiful, Tia!"

She blushed, kicking the dirt in embarrassment. "Thaaanks Hair-low."

I nestled down into the grass next to her garden, urging my heart to slow down. Tia looked at me and plopped down next to me, plucking a piece of grass from the ground and twirling it between her small fingers. I did the same, swearing loudly and _verrrrrry_ angrily in my fuzzy brain.

"Tia, I have a question for you," I said calmly, spinning my own wisp of grass.

"Otay," she said contently, squinting up to the look at the setting sun.

"That thin- er, that man we saw. In the hallway. Who was that?"

She looked at me, and for once I saw the fearfulness Marie had spoken of. Those brilliant blue eyes were wide with terror, her blade of grass no longer twirling.

"That'z the bad man," she said softly. "He'z naw nice. Peter'z scay-yerred of heem."

I nodded, looking down at my knees - my legs were shaking. I put a hand forcefully against my hips, steadying them.

"He doesn't look very nice," I admitted, trying desperately to get rid of that mental image.

"I don't like heem," she said sadly, flopping onto her back - her white blonde hair fanned out on the grass behind her.

"I don't think I do either," I said quietly, tucking my knees up under my chin. "Is he why you're so scared? Is that why you're having such a hard time falling asleep?"

She peered up at me, those globes of ocean blue round and thoughtful. "Yah. Sometimes he comes in my room and I get scay-yurred and I cry."

Unconsciously, I lay my hand over her delicate little one and gave it a soft pat. "It's okay to be scared, Tia. And it's okay to cry."

"Do you still cry sometime'z?"

"Yes. More than I'd like to admit. _And_, I get scared an awful lot, too."

"Why do you get scay-yurred?"

"A lot of reasons," I said simply, lying down on the grass next to her.

"But you're a growned up."

"Grown ups get scared, too."

"Really?"

"Mmhm. Just as much - maybe even _more_ - then kids do."

"What do growned ups be scay-yurred of?"

"Life."

"That'z not very scay-ree."

I laughed. "No, it's really silly, isn't it?"

"Are growned ups scay-yurred of monsters, too?"

I smiled and nodded. "But different kinds of monsters."

"What kinds?"

"Kinds that kids don't ever have to worry about."

She looked at me, but my answer seemed to suffice. She simply nodded, and looked back up to the sky.

"I don't want to be scay-yurred anymore."

"I know," I said softly, resting my head on her tiny little shoulder. "And you won't be. Ryan's going to help you, okay? He's going to make sure you're not scared anymore. Whatever scary monsters are in your house, he'll make them leave, okay? That's Ryan's job."

"Rye-un," she repeated, a small smile lighting up that face. "I like heem."

I smiled, stretching my arms out above my head. "Me too, Tee."

"Are you and Rye-un married too-gedder, Hair-low?"

I laughed, running a hand through my hair. "No, Tee. We're just friends."

"But why?"

"Because he's very nice, and he's a very _good_ friend."

"But he'z a boy!"

"Girls can be friends with boys."

"No we can't! Boys are yucky."

"Not all boys."

"Yah. ... Hair-low?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you surrrrre you and Rye-un aren't married too-gedder?"

**(Ryan)**

"She's so good with kids."

I smiled, and took a step forward next to Marie. The two of us were standing quietly in her dim dining room, peering out the large bay window into the backyard. Right near the edge of the yard, back by the large garden, Harlow and Tia were lying next to each other in the grass, figures dark and nearly unrecognizable from the little light available.

Kat, Heather, Serge and Teddy were all seated in the dining room, watching some television and chatting before we left for the evening. Marie and I were alone in the small, slightly crowded dining area. But really, I didn't mind. She reminded me a lot of **my **Mum. Soft spoken but strong, sweet but hardened. I liked her.

"She is," I agreed, gazing out at the two small shapes. "She loves kids."

"Does she have any siblings?" Marie asked, looking curiously up at me.

I smiled, shifting slightly uncomfortably. "I think she has a couple ... she's the youngest, I know that much."

Marie nodded, smiling slightly. "Her Mom must be so proud. Such impressive accomplishments, and she's so young."

I winced at the thought; the day Harlow's mother was proud of her for _anything_ was the day that hell froze over.

"How did you meet her?" Marie asked, eyeing me curiously.

"Oh, you know," I mumbled. "She's on the Penn State Volleyball team. And I'm ah - well, a bit of a volleyball enthusiast."

"Is that right," Marie said in amusement, looking back out into the yard. "Wouldn't have taken you for a volleyball enthusiast."

"Well, looks _can_ be deceiving."

She laughed, folding her arms across her chest. "Excuse me for asking something so personal, but - are you and Harlow ... you know. Are you two together?"

I laughed, scratching uncomfortably at the back of my head. "Together?"

"An item, dating," she clarified, but I'm sure my stuttering awkwardness was answer enough.

"Oh, that. Well ... I don't know. Sort of, I guess. What makes you think that?"

"Just the way you two act around each other, that's all," Marie said simply, with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I may be old, but I'm not blind."

"You're not old," I muttered.

"You forgot blind."

We both laughed, but stood in silence for another minute. It was nice. Just watching the sunset, listening to the happy chatter in the room opposite. I saw a sense of peace in Marie's face, one that was noticeably absent just a few hours ago.

"Sorry, but ... what do you mean, the way we act around each other?" I asked, as nonchalantly as I could.

"The way you look at her," Marie said softly. "Like there's no one else in the world you'd rather be staring at. The way you stand near her, always to her right, always slightly turned towards her. And the way she looks at _you_."

"At me?"

Marie nodded. "At you."

"How does she look at me?"

She simply smiled, but said nothing else. The two shadowy figures in the distance both rose, and began walking back towards the house. In the warm glow falling from the windows, I saw the heavy, tired eyes of Tia. Her hand, as if glued, was still intertwined with Harlow's. The fear was gone from Lo's face, but there was a heavy sense of dread plaguing her whole body as the two walked nimbly back to the home.

I had no more time to revel in the thought of Harlow and I as a perfect pair - duty called.

**(Harlow)**

"You _saw_ it this time?"

I nodded, scooting a little closer near Ryan. The house was still giving me a particularly nasty case of the heeby jeebys. We were seated outside again, the only light coming from the high moon above us. The rickety bench we sat on groaned beneath our weight.

"Both," I said quietly, warming my hands on the hot cup of tea Marie'd steeped. "Both of them."

"Where?" Ryan asked, leaning close to me - even in this terrific moment of fear, I couldn't help but feel that familiar va-goo-goo pang everytime I caught a whiff of that beautiful Old Spice. Oh _drool_.

"Tia's room, and in the hallway," I said, thinking back. "We were talking about why she doesn't like sleeping in her room. There's a little boy, Peter. He's not what scares Tia, but he seems to be stuck in the house."

"Why is he stuck in the house?"

I frowned, contemplating. "I .. I don't know. I didn't really get to talk to him. I didn't want to in front of Tia, it would've ... well it probably would've scared her. But I think this little Peter boy, I think he's directly linked with the other spirit."

"What's the other spirit like?"

I felt a horrible shudder zig zag through my entire body, the thought of that _thing's_ face erupting in my mind again. Ryan reached an arm around my shoulders, tucking me close to his chest. The usual jubilation I'd have felt at his touch did nothing to ease the fear creeping through my bones.

"It's ... terrible," I said, closing my eyes and trying, without much luck, to erase the image from my mind. "It's a man. Or, what's left of a man. It's like a dead, horrible nightmare."

"What's the matter with him?" Ryan asked.

"He's - well, I don't know what happened to him," I said softly, resting my mug on my still shaking knee - the contents sloshed dangerously close to the sides. "But he's missing the majority of his face."

I felt Ryan's arm stiffen, but his face showed no signs of fear. Pfft. If only he'd seen what I had, I'm pretty fuckin' sure he wouldn't have been this calm.

"What do you mean, he's missing his face?"

"Not all of it. Just .. the bigger part of it. The lower part. He has no mouth, and the left side of his nose and cheek are completely gone."

"Wha - so ... so, what's there, then?"

"Nothing," I said simply, shuddering again at that terrible image. "Just ... mangled flesh. That gurgling noise I kept hearing, and that Marie and Teddy and even _Tia_ keep hearing - it's coming from him. It's his voice. He has no mouth, no tongue, just ... whatever's left of his throat, I guess."

Now - _finally_ - Ryan paled a little. It was even noticeable in the dark.

"Did he _see_ you guys?" he asked, clearly not wanting to know the answer.

"Yes," I said, wincing at the image. "He's still got both of his eyes. He can see just fine. But the rest of his face - it's just a mess."

"So what you were smelling," he said slowly, a great flash of fear dancing across his face. "That's - "

"His face," I nodded. "I can smell his face. It wasn't like ... it's not like a clean cut. It's not like it was surgically removed, it's still ... raw. He must've lost it in some sort of accident."

"Like a car accident?"

"A car accident wouldn't have done that. I'm thinking a bomb, land mine or something. Or a shotgun blast, maybe. Mauled by a bear? The entire bottom left side of his face was essentially ripped off, it's not gonna be from a simple fender bender."

"And Tia - she can see him?"

I looked sadly down at my feet, and nodded. "She saw him too. We were walking down the hallway and he was in the doorway of the bathroom. I just .. I froze. I didn't know what to do. Tia saw him, but she turned away. She grabbed my hand and tugged me down the rest of the hall."

"Did she seem bothered by it?"

I nodded. "She saw him, and the second she saw him she looked away. I think .. I think she see's him a lot, to be honest. She's just become accustomed to it. How, I don't know."

The two of us sat in silence for another couple of minutes, the cool Minnesota breeze whipping through our hair. I looked back at the house, and felt a flash of terror rush through my body.

"I don't want to go back in there and do a walk through," I whispered. "I don't want to see that thing again .. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said simply, giving my shoulder a light squeeze. "I wouldn't - I _can't_ blame you. If it's even half as terrible as I'm imagining it, I wouldn't want you to go back in there and face that thing."

We fell into silence again, my eyes focusing on a little pink Barbie house lying in the middle of the grass. I felt a pang of sadness swell in my heart at the thought of Tia, huddled under her pink ballerina comforter, wracked with all-consuming fear. I was an adult, for Christ's sake and even **I** was having a hard time forgetting that image. She was just a little girl ...

"They're perfectly sane, Ryan," I said quietly. "Marie loves Tia more than life itself. She's terrified for her. And Tia - she's not imagining it. She's a healthy, vibrant four year old girl who isn't being plagued with bad dreams. She's living in a nightmare."

Ryan nodded, resting a cheek against my head. His eyes were glassy, lost in his train of thought.

"You've got to help them," I said softly, grasping his big hand in my own. "I know everyone's equally important, don't get me wrong - but Tia's a sweet girl. Kid's can overcome a lot of things, take it from me I know. But they're only a couple months away from this doing real, lasting, **permanent** damage."

Ryan nodded again, and with a heavy sigh, leaned back against the rickety old bench.

"I will."

Again, we sat huddled close in silence. The faint hooting of an owl and the light tinkle of the Montague's windchimes were all the noises we could hear. I looked up at the house, and saw movement in the kitchen. It looked like Heather - they were packing up to go.

"Let's go back to the hotel," I said quietly, giving Ryan's hand a light squeeze. "Everyone's packing up - you've got a long day ahead of you."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair and standing up. He pulled me up off the bench, and we walked in silence back to the house.

"You tired?" he asked me, looking down from my right.

I shrugged. "Not especially. Don't know if I could sleep even if I tried."

"Same," he sighed. "I think I'm going to go down to the hotel bar when we get back. Just knock a few back, it'll help me calm down."

I nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Care to join me?"

I smiled, sincerely happy at the thought. After such a long day, and after the things I'd seen for the last twenty four hours? I wasn't much of a drinker, but -

"That sounds perfect."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HOLA BEAUTIFULS! My laptop is at 4 percent battery life, this is gonna be so stupidly short you can't even imagine! I'm sorry it took so long, I'll try and get going asap on the next chapter editing, promise :)

Thanks to; **chicajenny, PSUPRS, akahitoha, XDeadlyImperfectionX, kcollins720, xoxoMyRealityIsFiction, WinchesterAngel3389 **and **nouseforaname89!** None of you will ever understand how much your reviews truly truly _truly_ brighten my whole week, I could never thank you enough! 3 more reviews and I hit the 200 mark! Wootwoot me! Longer author's note will follow next time, promise!

Loves and kisses and hugs and innappropriate gropes,

**love;** ellah!


	22. An Invitation To Spoon

**Chapter Twenty-One**

An Invitation To Spoon

**(Ryan)**

"I'm drunk. I'm definitely, _defffff-enettlee_ drunk."

"You're **such** a lightweight."

"How - how, _how_ are you not com_pleeeeetely_ plastered?"

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding onto her hand that was thrown over my shoulder. Unbeknownst to her, _that's_ how I was managing to stay upright and feign sobriety. Also unbeknownst to her? The entire room was spinning and I was about ready to rip off my pants and jump her bones right then and there. Oh **God** yes.

With a little giggle, Lo nuzzled her face into my arm, walking sloppily in step with me. We were potentially eighteen thouuuusand miles away from the elevator, but that was alright. Who needed an elevator when you're walking through a fancy shmancy hotel with the hottest piece of arm candy the world has ever seen. Hmm? Who _needs_ em? Not us. Hells no, not us. That bellhop was admiring our ridiculously attractive slinky sexy strutting, not gawking in horror at our drunken stumbling. That's what my plastered mind kept telling my common sense, anyways.

"I can hold my alcohol," I explained, blinking furiously to try and slow the whirling lobby. "Unlike you, Miss Oh-No-I'm-A-Good-Drinker-I-Never-Get-Drunk."

Harlow laughed and gave me a swat on the chest. "Oh shush. I didn't say that."

"Did too."

"Did _not_."

"Did."

"_Not_."

"So did."

She grinned, stopping dead in the middle of the lobby. At first I'd thought she'd passed out, which frankly wouldn't have been that big of a surprise. But imagine my shock when I turned around, only to see her eyeing me fiercely, cheeky little grin lighting up that perfect face. She grabbed the front of my jacket, pulled me so close our noses rubbed against each other's. She smiled, that perfectly saucy, naughty little beam I loved so much, and ran a hand up and down my shirt. _Quite_ provocatively, may I add.

"Alright," she sighed, giving my side a light pinch. "Maybe I lied. I'm _not_ very good with alcohol."

"This is my surprised face," I said blandly, tightening my grasp around her small waist. "See? I'm shocked. Just _shocked_."

She laughed, wrapping her arms gently around my neck. I nestled my face into her slight shoulder, that sweet vanilla and coconut scent now tinged with the poignant odor of vodka. I wanted to stay there forever, nuzzled against her warm skin. I could hear the beating of her heart, feel the faint thump of her pulse against my cheek. When I kissed her jawline, her neck, I could almost _taste_ the warmth and sweet smell I loved so dearly.

She ran her lips along the top of my ear, her cheek warm against my own. "I'm so tired - let's go upstairs."

UHM, THOSE LAST THREE WORDS WERE THE THREE WORDS I'D BEEN WAITING MY ENTIRE LIFE TO HEAR. YAH. LET'S GO.

RIGHT NOW NOW **NOW**.

**(Katrina)**

"Psst. Pst. Katrina. _Katrina_. Katrina!"

"Heather. You know I'm awake. You've been heckling me every five minutes for the last **two hours**."

"Whaddaya think Harlow and Ryan are doing?"

"I don't know. And I don't care."

Light flooded the room, and I winced in horrific pain - blindly, I grabbed my pillow and threw it over my face, attempting with little luck to fend away the unexplained brightness now illuminating our hotel room. Listen to me, and listen to me good: I swear to _God_, this was the last time I would ever share a room with Heather Taddy. **EVER**.

"I know what they're doing," she said cheekily, and I felt the edge of my bed sag under Heather's ass.

"Go to bed."

"I'm _in_ bed!"

"Go back to your _own_ bed."

"You know what they're doing?"

"It's like one in the morning, Heather."

"They're probably doing each _other_."

"Can you not?"

"You know I'm right."

"Turn the light off."

"I like light."

"I hate it, turn it _off_."

"You're such a grump. Hey, _hey_. Why do you think Harlow didn't do the walk through tonight?"

"I don't know. Maybe like me and the rest of the world, she was too tired."

"I'm not tired."

"That was a hint to shut up and leave me alone."

"But even if she were tired, why do you think she'd back out of it?"

"I don't know. Maybe Ryan told her she didn't need to."

"I doubt Ryan would have done that. He's all about getting as much info on a place as he can, and who better to get all the teensy little details then Lo?"

"I don't know. Maybe she'll do it tomorrow."

"Michelle's doing it tomorrow!"

"Then I don't know."

"You think it's tiring?"

"What, being friends with _you_?"

"No, I know **that's** tiring. I mean being a psychic."

"Considering I'm not, I haven't the faintest idea."

"I think it would be."

"I'm so thrilled for you."

"Can you imagine? You're not only thinking for yourself, but for hundreds, maybe even _thousands_ of other people all at the same time."

"The thought of it exhausts me, I should probably go to bed."

"Would you want to be a medium? Like if you had the option, would you?"

"I'd like to be asleep more."

"I don't think I would .. like if they offered me the power of mediumship or like .. the power of super farts. I think I'd choose superfarts. A lot less stressful, don't you think?"

Not even willing to dignify that with a response, I rolled over onto my side, shielding the light a little better then before. Heather nattered on, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

Ryan and Harlow had met up with Tad, Sergey, Eilfie, Josh and I when we all got back to the hotel about three hours ago. Michelle'd been in bed since nine. Josh and Eilfie took off to go get some Pagan beauty sleep, while Serge, Tad and I decided to hit the hotel's restaurant and grab a little something to eat before hittin' the old sack. Harlow and Ryan had left for the bar - and that was the last we'd seen of either of them. As far as I knew, the two little lovebirds were still down there. Or maybe Tad was right? Maybe they were busy - _gettin'_ busy, more like it.

Ah well. As long as they were havin' fun.

As horrifically annoying as it was sharing a room with Heather, she made some valid and slightly interesting points. Why wouldn't have Ryan asked Harlow to go through with the walk through? Had he thought better of it? Had she declined? I'd ask him tomorrow, I suppose. And if she'd refused, why? Was what Heather said right? Is it really that exhausting being a medium? Would a walk through have been too much?

I'd always wondered, ever since I was little, what it would be like to see ghosts. I always thought it'd be kind of cool, you know? To be able to see people who weren't really there. Talk to people from hundreds of years ago. Have a special gift that practically no one else in the world had. But would it really have been that great? After meeting Harlow, I had second guesses. Look what it'd done to her friendships. Look how hard she tried to hide it. I could still remember the look of exhaustion on her face as we left the house this evening. Ryan had told me she'd spent the majority of the day trying to fend off antagonistic spirits - that hardly sounded fun.

Exhaustion once again flooding my whole body, I rolled over, this time almost flat on my stomach, face smushed into the poofy hotel pillow. Most people - or should I say, most _sane_ people - would take this a hint to get the fuck **away** from me. Unfortunately, Heather is not most people. Nor is she sane. In Taddy's messed up little brain, it seemed me rolling over, exposing my ass was actually an _invitation._ To spoon me. Jee. Suss. **CHRIST.**

"Heather?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Get off me."

"We're _snuggling_."

"I don't **want** to snuggle, I want to sleep."

"Shhh ... just close your eyes."

"I'm going to start punching the air and flailing in ten seconds. Get off me, or you're going to be on the end of my fist."

"Do it, I dare you."

"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven."

"My brother threatened to punch me all the time, I'm not scared."

"Six. Five. Four. Three."

"The longer you count, the harder I'm going to nuzzle into your back."

"Two. One. Zero."

_THUNK._

"OWWWWW KATRINA! YOU **BITCH**!"

**(Michelle)**

"Maybe one of us _should_ go up there?"

"I'm sure they're fine."

"Yeah, but what if they died? Should I go up there?"

"Trust me Tad," Eilfie said restlessly, downing her third mug of coffee. "If anyone's going to have to go and wake them up, it's gonna be anyone at this table **but** you."

"Here here," Katrina grunted, eyes swollen with exhaustion.

"I don't know why you're all grumpy," I said chipperly, peeling a delicious little chunk off of my scone. "I slept great."

"That's because you didn't have Heather demanding a slumber party for four hours," Kat muttered, stifling a yawn in her hands.

"Or Sergey singing Russian lullabies to himself at three in the morning," Josh mumbled.

"Sorry, I was trying to drown out your snoring," Serge said irritably.

"Next time, Ryan's springing for separate rooms," Katrina sighed.

"Where _are_ they?" Heather tisked, fidgeting restlessly in her seat - she, for the most part, seemed perfectly fine with little to no sleep.

I swear, the girl had crack running through her veins, not blood. I don't think I'd ever seen her **less** than frantically hyper.

The six of us were seated in the breakfast room of the spacious Roosevelt Hotel. In my humble opinion, there was no such thing as a bad hotel, but one's that served continental breakfasts? Without a doubt, five stars. Maybe even six. Or twenty. There was just something so deliciously impressive about free day old donuts on grungy countertops. Seated around me, five of the youngsters were groggy, ashen faced and yawning - which didn't give me high hopes for the investigation. How thorough can we be when half the crew is passed out on the floor? Hoping for the best, I peered over at the large open doorway across from me - we had been waiting for almost twenty minutes now, and there was _still_ no sign of either Ryan, or the girl named Harlow.

I'd crashed early, about nine o'clock, and woken up briskly at eight. Whenever I had psychic walk-throughs to do, or knew I had a long day ahead of me, I tried to hit the sack a little early, and wake up even earlier - kept me awake, focused. I didn't mind waiting - the longer we sat here, the more I could prepare. As I munched on my scone and took a hearty swig of coffee, I noticed an odd expression pass over Elf's face and the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. Her eyes were suddenly glittering rather mischievously - Pagans. They were so _strange_ sometimes.

"There they are."

I peered up again, and felt the hot coffee in my throat burn and the scone threaten to claw it's way back up my esophagus. So _that's_ what the team had meant.

A couple had walked idly into the room, one of the pair I recognized, the other I didn't. Ryan, although there were deep bags under his eyes, looked rather cheerful and wide awake. His hair was still slightly damp from an earlier shower, and his hands were full of journals, tape recorders and pens. Next to him, falling slightly behind him in step, was a girl I presumed must've been Harlow, a single notepad clutched in her hands.

She was looking a bit groggy, but in a way so sickeningly magnificent it made everyone at the table look like zombies who hadn't eaten a brain in weeks. There were faint bags beneath her eyes, but they could hardly be noticed for the brilliant green that sparkled above them. Her face was a creamy tan, slightly rouge on the cheeks, complete with an incredibly sharp jaw line that chiseled her face into something so unreal, it exceeded perfection. Deep brown hair twisted into a messy french knot, long, lean body walking as light as air next to Ryan. She was a human being - she had to be. But she was also the closest thing to inhuman beauty I'd ever seen.

**Sweet** Mother Mary.

With unnatural finesse, she and Ryan walked up to the table and took a seat at the two remaining chairs. Ryan directly to my left, Harlow the seat over between him and Sergey. I saw Serge's face pale horrifically, and exchanged a shrewd but understandable glance with Josh - I had to bite back a laugh.

"About time," Heather huffed, piling little cream containers into a milky pyramid of goodness before her. "We thought you'd _died_."

"No, **you** thought they'd died," Katrina clarified, rolling her eyes. "Sleep well?"

"Never in a hotel," Ryan responded, turning to me. "Sorry I'm late - Michelle especially, my apologies. You're a guest, I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"The longer I waited, the more scones I got to inhale," I said, attempting to _stop_ staring awkwardly at the petite girl seated next to him.

She caught my eye and smiled, a dazzling, knee buckling grin that caught me completely off guard. She scooted over a bit on her chair, extended her hand politely.

"I'm Harlow," she said, a voice smooth as honey. "You must be Michelle - Ryan's told me all about you, I was so excited to finally get to meet you!"

An earnest compliment, it took all my will and concentration to look away from her charming face and offer my hand back to shake her dainty one lightly - I felt like if I squeezed too hard or shook it too quickly, I'd break her. Tiny little thing, she was.

"It's a pleasure," I said, with a slightly stupefied smile - alright, maybe I _shouldn't_ have laughed at Sergey. "I've heard many a great thing about you, Miss Vincent."

She grinned again, cheeks glowing a little brighter. "Too kind."

"Can I get you anything for breakfast, Lo?" Heather asked, and I swear I saw her eyelashes flutter across the table. Weirdo.

Harlow smiled, but shook her head politely, putting a hand on her stomach. "Thanks, but I think I'll hold off - the kajillion lime and vodka's still aren't sitting very well."

"Nothing?" Ryan asked her, leaning a little closer to her in his chair. "I thought breakfast was the most important meal of the day? You're shaming your fellow athletes, Lo."

She rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a playful little shove. "Thanks Coach, but I'll grab something after."

"Are you coming down to the house with us?" Eilfie asked.

Harlow shook her head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear - I saw Serge's eyes go strangely blank. "Not until later, after supper. I've got to write out the reports of my evaluations on the family - for the case file _and_ for class. I'd rather get it done before I get back home, otherwise that's one more thing I'll neglect doing until an hour before it's due."

I laughed, ripping another little chunk off my scone - I wasn't really hungry anymore, it was more to just keep my hands busy.

"You'll miss all the fancy shmancy production crap that goes on," I said. "Not to mention the Kraft food tables ... my _favorite_ part."

She laughed, but shook her head. "Production doesn't interest me so much. Napping and tapping away at a laptop for six hours - there's where the real fun is."

Katrina leaned over the table and began to converse cheerfully with Harlow, as Heather bobbed frantically and chipperly beside her. Josh spoke in a hushed conversation with Serge and Ryan, while Elf excused herself to grab another mug of coffee before we headed off. I sat complacently, gnawing a bit at my scone, sneaking quick little peeks over at Harlow.

I'd met a lot of psychics in my day - perhaps more than anyone else. And usually, unless they mentioned it or said something about their ability, it was impossible to tell who was a medium and who wasn't. But there was something about Harlow, meek but pleasant, shy but a presence, that gave away her little gift. I'm sure if I'd never met her, it might have been a little different. I'd still have known there was _something_ about her, but psychic probably wouldn't have been my first guess. But now that I _knew_ what she was? It didn't surprise me in the least.

Most psychics see something called an aura. It's energy, good or bad or evil or saintly. Usually, you see it when you're communicating with spirits. Depending on the type of ghost, their energy would be completely different. But Harlow - she gave off an aura all on her own. Much like a spirit, but a more human, earthy one. It was like there was a constant spotlight following her around. A warm light around her. Something happy, something calm - it just radiated off her. It was peculiar, to say the least.

She seemed to notice me gawking slightly at her, and she smiled shyly. Leaning behind Ryan's chair and resting an arm on the back of it, she moved closer to me, and I could feel the strange glow of her energy warm my entire body - it was quite lovely, truth be told.

"I've been really looking forward to meeting you," she said softly, a happy lop-sided grin on her angelic face. "I've heard so many great things about you, I've been so excited!"

I laughed, more at the fact that even while he was in conversation, Ryan would melt and fall to pieces when she came even within six inches of him. I could see an odd, slightly dopey and vacant expression wash over his face - ah, young love.

"Likewise, really," I said, resting an arm on the back of my own chair. "Chip's told me a lot about you - I have a lot of questions, I'm not going to lie."

She smiled with slight embarrassment, giving her eyes a little roll. "I hope I'm not too much of a disappointment, Chip's got a habit of over-exaggerating things sometimes."

"He wasn't the only one I heard good things from," I assured her, motioning towards the rest of the table, who were all in happy conversation with each other. "Ryan said you were doing a walk-through last night - how'd it go?"

She shook her head, and I saw a wave of exhaustion sweep over her face. "I didn't end up doing one. I was too tired by the end of the day, and well ... I didn't want to go back in the house, to be honest."

I looked at her curiously, knowing fully well she couldn't say much to me regarding the house - Ryan likes us to be completely out of the loop when we have to do walk-throughs. He made me wear a blindfold half the frickin' time, if that's proof enough. She glanced at the back of Ryan's head, and shook her own sadly.

"I know I can't say anything," she said, with a small smile, hands clasped into a tight ball on her lap. "Just .. I don't know how you do them, these walk-throughs. But just make sure you prepare yourself, that's all."

I nodded. "We'll talk more when you get to the home tonight. I don't know how much you picked up on, having not done a tour of the home, but .. "

"I picked up on enough," she said softly. "More than I wanted to."

I nodded again. "I'd love to talk more to you, about our little gift. Anytime you're free or willing."

"We'll make a date of it," she said cheerfully.

I'm aware I'm a woman. And I'm aware Harlow was dating my boss slash friend slash co-worker. But I'd be lying if I said the idea of a date with Miss Vincent didn't excite me just a _little_.

**(Ryan)**

"What kind of injury?"

I could feel my heart pounding painfully against my chest - the look on Michelle's face said it all. A look of pure horror, terror and nausea - the same one I'd seen on Harlow's face the evening before. What made it even more intensely horrifying was the production team surrounding us. Mike and Terry, the two cameramen and Sonya the production assistant. They were both staring wide-eyed at Michelle - there wasn't a sound coming from _any_ of of them.

Michelle touched her face, grimaced and simply shook her head. "Head injury .. if you can even call it that."

I didn't even bother to jot it down on my notepad - I'd heard this already. This was just further proof that there was something truly heinous in this home.

"What kind of head injury?" I asked, making a horribly unrealistic attempt at calm indifference.

"He's missing chunks of his face. He's got two eyes, but .. the left side of his face, it seems to be missing."

"Missing?" I choked, but I could hardly calm my spasming heart. "Missing how?"

"It was blown off, it had to have been," Michelle said, and her face was tinged with green - she was staring at a spot in the hallway about ten feet away. "It's like .. there's just a huge, gaping hole in the bottom of his face. He can't speak, he doesn't have a mouth. It looks like it was ... God, I don't even know."

"Could it have been a car accident?" I asked, knowing fully well it wasn't.

"No," Michelle said at once, eyes still fixed in horror at the spot. "No .. this is so much worse then anything a car could do. It looks like he was .. I don't know. Mauled? Maybe a bomb or something, or he was blasted in the face by a shotgun or something. It's .. God, there's no more flesh anywhere, it's just bone and tissue."

I heard a small whimper from Sonya behind me, but I couldn't look away from Michelle. The horrific, transfixed look of terror was identical to the look of Harlow's yesterday. Identical. The same fear, from two different psychics.

Michelle shook her head, dragging her eyes away from the hallway. "I need to get out of here."

I nodded, and along with Mike, Terry and Sonya, we booked it as fast as humanly possible out of the hallway. Next to me, as we made our way into the empty kitchen, Michelle grasped an unsteady hand around my forearm.

"That noise they've been hearing," she said quietly, so the rest of the crew didn't hear. "That's his throat, or whatever's left of it. The gurgling. It's the blood. And the smell - it's the smell of his face."

**(Harlow)**

I maybe kinda sorta lied when I said typing away on a laptop for six hours was my idea of fun.

Alone at the desk in my hotel room, the Wordpad window was half filled with jumbled nonsense. My brain was elsewhere - no longer concentrating on the words I was trying unsuccessfully to piece together. It was nearly five, and I'd barely made a dent on these stupid evaluations - I don't know how all those writers and journalists and people could concentrate in dingy little hotel rooms. I was finding it nearly impossible.

I leaned back in the cushy chair, glancing over at the messy, unmade bed to my right. I smiled a little, memories from last night flooding back into my head. I had been drunk - most definitely drunker then I'd been in _years_. But it was a good drunk.

After Ryan and I had left the bar, we'd made a beeline up to my room and crashed on the slightly musty but comfy king size bed in the center of my suite. After what had to have been a good half hour of making out - and some other slightly **naughty** things - we'd curled up together and talked well into the night. Was I paying for it today? Oh, most _definitely_. But was it worth it?

Oh _hells_ yes.

Ryan and I had been dating a couple of weeks now, and in complete honesty, it was going so much better then I'd ever had expected. I'd had my share of my boyfriends - probably not as many as some people think. But I'd had a few. The majority of them were, well ... assholes, I guess is the proper word. The people I got involved with always seemed like they cared, wanted to know more about me, wanted to really truly be a part of my life. But it never really ended up that way. Heartbreak after heartbreak, I'd been single for well over two years now.

But with Ryan, there was something so different about it. It was sweet. It was slow. He asked me questions, relentlessly, about myself. Questions about my childhood that I really had to _think _about. He asked me where my favorite place was that I had lived. What was my best memory from high school, what was my favorite television show. Favorite color, animal, chocolate bar, clothing store. Things no one had ever cared about, he took the time to ask me. And most importantly? He actually remembered.

There was no pressure for sex. No pressure to go out, to do certain things, to hang out with him all the time. There was just sweet, innocent, respectful trust. I'd never had anything like that.

I grinned again, that same ridiculously dopey one I'd had on my face so often lately, and ran a hand through my hair. It felt like a high school romance was supposed to, you know? Slow, sweet. Everything was perfect, moving at a steady pace that made me feel more then comfortable. How many guys do you know that'd get tanked with you, crash in a quaint little hotel room, and not even _try _to make a move? I knew **one**.

I hopped off the chair and rolled under the warm covers on the bed. Stupid evaluations, I could do them tomorrow. I just wanted to nap, that's all. Close my eyes, curl up into a little ball. Oh God, warmth. How I loved you, so. Come to me nowwww, sleep - I'm ready to _dreaaam - _

_Briiiing, briiiing!_

"Mother fuuuuuu - "

With half a mind to ignore it and just let it go to voicemail, I grudgingly rolled out of the soft duvet and felt around blindly at the floor for my phone. Half hidden under the bed, I grabbed it and brought it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Harlow Barlow Baby Bear!"

I smiled.

"What's up, Kimmy?"

"You sound sleepy, why are you napping? You're on vaycayyyy, go party and get trashed and sleep with fifty people or somethin', alright?"

"That sounds just like me," I laughed, curling the sheets around my free hand. "Maybe _after_ I finish writing out all the evaluations."

"I swear to God, woman, you don't know how to have fun," she sighed, and although we were thousands of miles away, I swear I could actually _hear_ her eyes rolling.

"So what, you just call to make fun of me? You're a real pal, Kim."

"That's not why I called, that's just an added bonus," she said, but her tone was suddenly airier, uneasy. "I'm actuuuuually calling ... about volleyball."

I sighed. "What about it?"

There was a moment of silence, before she cleared her throat and plunged on. "Well, I know you haven't set any dates for next practice, but - "

"I know, I know," I said, running my hand over my face. "I'm sorry, I know we've got a game in like... less then a week or something, I've been busy. I'll grow some balls and give Sophie a call, plan something."

"Well, that's the thing," she said slowly, and in very unlike Kimmy fashion, she sounded extremely nervous. "Sophie's set the next practice date."

There was more dead silence, this time from both ends of the phone. My brain was going a mile a minute. _Sophie_ set a date for practice? When we were still friends - God, that killed me to say - that kind of initiative would've been lost on Soph. But now?

"I heard about it through Emma," Kimmy explained uneasily. "She was at the Coffee Bean, ran into Natalie and Mickenzie. They said something like 'See you Tuesday', and Em asked what they meant. Told her Sophie set a date for practice. I got a text like an hour ago from Soph, so did Linds."

I said nothing again, but my brain rattled on.

"Did you get a text?" she asked warily, but I think she already knew the answer.

"No," I said, my voice much clearer then I thought it'd be. "No, forgot to text me, I suppose."

"Forgot, yeah," Kimmy said irritably. "Forgot to text the captain. She's a fucking idiot."

"It doesn't matter," I sighed. "It's fine. Tuesday?"

"Yep," Kim said, but her voice was a forced cheery. "Linds and Em and I can pick you up at five, don't worry."

"That'd be great," I said, feigning an even more unconvincing tone of happiness. "I'm catching a plane at ten tomorrow morning, I'll give you a call and we'll talk more when I'm not paying long distance fees out my ass."

She laughed. "Right-o, el Capy-tano. Love you lots, call me later Gator."

"Adios."

I heard her click off the line, and I pressed the little red button on the right of my phone. I let it drop onto the bed beside me. I was staring up at the ceiling, no longer sleepy, but a whole different kind of exhausted. I wasn't sure how I felt, exactly. I thought I was angry, but I was too sad to be. I thought I was upset, but I was too shocked. I thought I was impressed, but I was too indifferent.

To text the entire team a date for practice without talking to me, that's one thing. But had I really expected her to? No, I guess not. But this was life, wasn't it? Life went on. Just because Sophie and I were on the outs, that shouldn't mean the entire volleyball season was ruined for the rest of the girls, right?

Tuesday. That was three days from now.

Maybe in three days, it would hurt less.

I hoped so.

**(Katrina)**

"But where'z Hair-low?"

"She'll be here in a little bit," I assured Tia, who had applesauce splattered all over her face - I will never understand how kid's can get food plastered up to their freakin' hairline, but somehow they always manage.

"I want to has tea with Hair-low," Tia explained, gnawing at her plastic spoon cheerfully. "We can haz tea againd."

"We can have tea with you," Heather offered. "Katrina and I _love_ tea."

Tia smiled and dropped her spoon on the floor. "No, iz otay. I want to has tea with Hair-low. Bye."

And she scuttled cheerfully out of the room.

From the kitchen sink, Teddy, Ryan and Michelle all laughed heartily at the sour look on Heather's face, but Marie rested a hand lightly on Tad's shoulder.

"It's nothing against you," she assured us. "She loves both of you. There's just something about Harlow."

"Hair-low's got it made," Heather sighed.

"She _is_ coming again, isn't she?" Teddy asked Ryan, a terrifically hilarious look of longing on his pale face. "I - er, Tia, she'd be so upset."

Ryan smiled and nodded, taking a quick glance down at his watch. "Should be here any minute, actually."

"Good," Marie sighed, but there was the same look of panic on her face that we'd seen the moment we'd arrived - it'd only faltered slightly when she'd been able to speak with Harlow. "She'll be here before Marnie takes Tee for the night."

Marnie, Marie's older sister, had volunteered to take Tia for the evening while the rest of the crew, our team, and she and Teddy held dead time. Ryan (and all the rest of us had whole-heartedly agreed) had said it was against everyone's best interest to keep Tia in the house. Especially if the activity was as bad as they had said it was. With Tia gone to a safer, quieter, less active house, we were free to interact as much as we could with the spirits in the home.

Although there were more people in the house - between the new additions of Elf, Josh and Michelle and the rest of the PS crew - there was still an unflappable sense of darkness sucking the light from the home. I couldn't help but be concerned - Marie's face was paler then I'd seen it, and the stress was terribly evident all over her face. Even her hair was hanging limper then usual.

From the front room, Tia began nattering loudly and happily, and there were soft little footsteps growing louder and louder before Tee stepped into the kitchen. Her tiny little hand grasped a soft, slightly larger one, and Harlow padded quietly into the kitchen. She gave everyone a warm smile, and nodded her head slightly guiltily behind her.

"The front door was open," she explained, smiling awkwardly. "Crew moving stuff in, I would've knocked, I'm sorry - "

"Look Ma, Hair-low's coming back for tea!" Tia squealed, face shining with sheer delight.

"I see, dear, I see," Marie said, the anxiety seemingly melting off of her face. "Harlow, sweetheart, it's so nice to see you again!"

"You as well, Marie," she said softly, with a small smile - her eyes were slightly narrowed, however. Clearly it wasn't just me who noticed the stress etched hard on Marie's face. "How are you - er, how is _everyone_, I should say."

We all waved to her, said our hello's, and Harlow made a small little bee-line to go stand next to Ryan near the fridge. Her back was turned away from the hallway, and I could tell she was still uncomfortable being anywhere near it. Tia was singing loudly, gathering up her toys from the kitchen floor.

"Will you be staying tonight, Harlow?" Teddy asked, looking more at Lo's knees then her face - Harlow pretended not to notice.

"No, unfortunately not," she said apologetically, folding her hands loosely in front of her. "Early flight tomorrow morning. I've got to get back home before the weekend's over. You know, homework to catch up on, essays to write - bills to not pay."

We laughed, but no one harder then Teddy - ah, whatta man.

"We'll be sad to see you go," Marie said with earnest.

"Hair-low, time for tea yet?"

Harlow nodded, smiling down at the curly head of Tia. "How about you go get the tea cups and everything ready? I'll be down there in a couple of minutes, is that alright?"

"Otay," Tia said sadly.

"Here's an idea," Harlow said, kneeling down in front of the woebegone little girl before her. "You know my friends Heather and Katrina?"

Tia nodded, looking over her shoulder at Tad and I curiously.

"Well, here's a little secret," Harlow said softly. "Katrina and Heather **love** tea, maybe even more then you and I do! How about you show them your tea set and show them how you set everything up, and I'll come and meet you in your room in five minutes?"

Tia smiled, nodding her head - she turned to Heather and I and motioned to the hallway with her tiny little hand. "Come on den, I show you my tea otay!"

"C'MON KATRINA, LET'S GO!" Heather said excitedly, bounding up from her chair and running after Tia down the hallway.

"Marie, would you mind just coming with me for a moment?" Harlow asked politely, motioning out the window into the backyard. "It won't be long, I can't afford to miss out on a tea party."

Marie smiled and nodded, leading the way out into the backyard, Harlow following noiselessly behind her. As I began to walk out of the room, I stole a look over at Ryan - he was looking in polite confusion but earnest interest out into the backyard.

I smiled, stalking out of the kitchen not nearly as quietly as Harlow and down the dark hallway towards Tia's room. Even from this far away, I could hear the shrill and happy nattering of Tia - or was it Taddy? - but I couldn't help feel a little more at ease then before.

Even if Ryan was utterly unaware of what was going on, I knew what Harlow was up to.

Call it female's intuition. Or, common sense.

_Men_.

**(Harlow)**

"This is my apartment phone number, I have an answering machine so if I'm not there just leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

I scribbled down the 10 digits onto a scrap piece of paper from my purse (actually, I'm pretty sure it was a gum wrapper - God, I'm ghetto), and pushed it across the table to Marie. She took it nimbly in her fingers, looking up at me with watery eyes. Oh God, I hated when people cried - I was so awkward in those situations.

I smiled reassuringly, and gave her hand a soft pat. "You look stressed, Marie. I know - uhm, well, I've _seen_ how hard hauntings can be on people, and I just want you to know that you're not alone, okay?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip but still seemingly unable to speak. Oh God, keep talking Harlow, keep talking.

"If you ever need anything, someone to talk to or advice or ... anything, really. I'm just a phone call away."

She nodded again, this time a lone tear dripping down her cheek. Oh, mother of God, I think we were both gonna start crying.

"I just feel so weak," she said quietly. "I can't protect my own daughter, I'm just - "

"You're not weak," I said forcefully. "You're stronger then you even know. The fact that you've made the calls for help, and you've looked into different psychologists and behaviorists for Tia - that shows me you're really, _truly_ taking initiative to help your little girl. You're protecting her the only way you can. You're not weak. No one's weak so long as they try."

With a great, snotty sniffle, Marie nodded and pawed away the tears on her cheeks. She gave me a very watery, very sad little smile, and patted my own hand with her small, warm one.

"You're mother must be so proud of you," she choked.

I smiled, trying to make it more a flattered one then a bitter one. Not too sure if it worked.

"If my mother had given even an eighth of the shit you do about your daughter," I said quietly. "I'd have considered myself the luckiest girl in the world."

Marie looked at me, very curiously, but before I gave her a chance to ask any more slightly awkward questions about my horrifically embarrassing childhood, I cut her off.

"I'll make you a cup of tea," I said with a smile. "You stay out here for a couple minutes, just let it all out, alright? I'll be back in a snap."

She nodded, this time with a more sincere, slightly happier grin. The gum wrapper with my phone number was clenched tightly in her palm, and despite the nagging feeling of sadness in my gut, I stood from the table and walked back to the house.

It was funny - how many times had I met someone, a teacher, a professor, any random person that had told me how proud my mother would've been? Too many. Didn't they know? Couldn't they tell by looking at me? I was an orphan. A mutt, really. My mother killed the only things she was ever supposed to love. I was next on the list. And maybe she hadn't gotten around to me, not in a physical sense. But she slaughtered me in an even worse way then she could've with _any_ gun. Would she have been proud of me? If she could see me now, would she be impressed? Would she even care? Who knows. She was too busy moping around in her jail cell for 12 years, feeling sorry for herself. She couldn't have given less then a flying fuck about how her only daughter left alive was doing.

Was I bitter? Maybe. I think I had a reason to be, don't you? Proud, what a load of shit. The only thing she ever showed any pride for was the amount of time she spent rotting in her cell. You'd think **that** was some kind of achievement. But life went on. You live you learn, you try to forgive, you try to forget. Painful as it sometimes was, it was all we had, wasn't it? Life - such a funny thing.

I climbed the steps, the shrill laughter of Tia echoing in my ears. I smiled. To be a child again, can you imagine? I wish I'd known how free I was, regardless of my circumstances. I wish I could go back to knowing nothing, but believing in anything and everything. I was afraid of my own mind - I wish I could go back to the time when I wasn't. I was scared of everything, every second of every day - I wanted more then anything to once again, only fear the monsters under my bed. I lived in constant terror of losing the only things I had left in the world. Kimmy, Lindsey - Ryan. I'd lost Sophie. I don't know if I'd ever get her back.

But I hoped I would.

I hoped tomorrow, I would wake up stronger.

I hoped next week, I'd still have the people in my life who showed me the good in every day.

I hoped next month, I would still have Ryan to love and to hold.

I hoped next year, I'd still be on this strange, _strange_ journey to self - or re? - discovery.

I hoped that some day, eventually, I'd be able to forgive. I'll never forget. But maybe I'd be able to forgive.

But most of all?

I hoped, with all my heart, I'd learn how to stop being afraid of doing, having, and discovering, all those things.

I hoped.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HI! Sorry about the lack of decent author's note last time, my sincerest apologies to my dearest most lovely and beautiful and wonderful readers/reviewers :) My laptop's been going nutso lately, it's driving me mad. ANYWAYS, it seems to be kinda sorta working properly again, so hopefully I can bust out more chapters even quicker! Although I DID just get a new job so I might be too exhausted from serving cake all day to do anything ... but I'm rambling. On to the thank you's!

**futureauthor62:** gah! i'm sorry it creeped you out! i'm like that when i watch anything even a little terrifying on the computer at night. i'll go upstairs to bed and sing realllllly loudly and pretend like i'm totally fine, but inside i'm crying and flailing in fear :( i still believe in the universal rule that nothing can get you as long as you're under the covers, though. yeah. i'm almost 20. so what? thanks for the review, you darling darling reader!

**xSyndarinx:** so glad you liked the chappie! and like always, i love you! you're brilliant and i hope you stay with me and harlow and ryan and everyone else until the very end (L)

**weasleyO: **hmmm ... i don't for sure remember which that was, but it could've been 'Dead Time' by Harbor Master? maybe? i wish they'd bring the boards back, too :(

**PSUPRS: **oh my lovely Sora! your reviews never fail to brighten my entire week :) thank you thank you thank you, you will forever hold the largest piece of my heart and i want to have your children. much love! xo

**WinchesterAngel3389:** i met this teeny tiny little girl at my work a couple weeks ago, and she talked EXACTLY like tia. or rather, tia talked like her. it actually made me laugh, i wanted to talk to her forever and ever and ever. i asked what her name was, and she was like "emp-ah-lee." i think that means emily, but i squealed and chased her around the store. thank you for the review, i adore you more than you'll ever know!

**akahitoha: **pffft, you think the half face man is depressing? wait until you read the next few chapters, THAT'S gonna be depressing :( but you know what's not depressing? you. because i love you to pieces and your reviews never cease to make me smile and roll around in pure joy xoxo

**kcollins720: **i can always count on you, without fail, to deliver a simple but absolutely wonderful review for T.H.E. :) you're the sweetest person alive, thank you thank you thank you!

**nouseforaname89:** i think you're the newest reviewer, but you're quickly becoming one of my new bestest friends in the whole entire world! thank you so so so much, your review made a very terrible day a more than bearable one! (L)

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction:** EEEEEEEEEP! not even lying, your review made me go 'DAWWWWWWWWW THAT'S SO NICE!" and all my co-workers looked at me like i was some sort of freak. which i guess i am, but whatevs! i'm a freak who loves you more than a baby loves pooping themselves! thank you so much for the review, i simply adore you!

nine reviews! you guys are amazing, and i love you more than life itself! i've had such a stressful week, but all your reviews made it that much easier to get through :)

a word of warning! a lot of you have noticed that the story is getting darker as it goes on - well i'm here to tell you it's really only getting worse. something monumentally terrible will happen in chapter 25, so ... just prepare yourselves, alright? because it's only downhill from there :( BUT, i thank you all once again for sticking with me through my horrifically late updates and sometimes (i'm sure) hard to follow storylines! you're all amazing, and i'd catch a grenade for any of you. yeah. just quoted bruno mars, so what? i'm BA.

**love;** ellah!


	23. I Buy My Onion Rings In The Library

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

I Buy My Onion Rings In The Library

**(Harlow)**

_"Just watch him, okay? He needs you, Har. Go."_

_"But Brody, I can't - he wants you, you can help him!"_

_"Just __**go**__ Harlow, the police will be here any minute for you guys. Go, help him."_

_"But Bee - "_

_"__**Go**__ Harlow! The police are coming for you and Kingston, go!"_

_"Okay - where are you going?"_

_"I just .. I've gotta go. Help Kingston, okay?"_

_"Okay. Okay, Brody."_

"Harlow?"

I blinked, the darkness overwhelming - my eyes were fuzzy and hazed, blind to the world around me. I blinked, blinked again. Blinked once more -

there was a face barely two inches from my own.

Wait ... what?

"_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP,_ WHAT IN THE _HOLY_ **HELL**?"

I flailed, wrapping my already cocooned body even more into the twisted, knotted sheets around me. My heart was beating so fast, I swear to God it was trying to escape out of my chest. I looked around wildly, focusing on a spot at the end of my bed. I'm sure I looked hellish, but that was _nothing_ compared to the beating I was about to inflict on that God _damn - _

"Chick! Jesus! What - what the **fuck**!"

"Did I wake you?"

"You - asshole - once I get - gah - out of these - ughhh - sheets, I'm going to - _shit_ - **kill** you!"

"What a waste of time," she sighed, but her eyes were round and glassy with worry.

I saw the fearful expression on her face and stopped my struggling, peeling slowly away at the layers and layers of blankets wrapped around my legs and torso. How did shit like this even happen? You fall asleep lying under a blanket, you wake up folded like origami into every sheet, blanket and pillowcase you've ever owned in your entire life. Dammit. I had bedspread wedged in my underwear. I either flail like a mad woman in my sleep, or Chick secretly binds me with blankets. I didn't know, didn't care either (although I sincerely hoped the latter wasn't the case).

"What the hell were you doing?" I hissed, peeling the last corner of sheet out from under my back. "You scared the piss out of me!"

"Sorry," she muttered, rather unapologetically might I add.

"What's going on?" I asked, running a hand through my hair - it felt like a rat's nest.

"Nothing," she sighed, curling up at the end of my bed. "Nothing."

I glanced over at the clock - 8:30 AM. Well, could've been worse I suppose. Normally I'm not up until about noon, but I guess it'd be one of those 'early bird' kinda days. Stupid ghosts. At least it was a school day.

"Nothing," I repeated, shooting her a rather skeptical look. "Nothing at all? You always just crawl onto my bed and put your face two inches from my own? That's normal?"

"You see dead people, don't tell me what is or isn't normal," she huffed, but there was still a strange look of fear in her bright yet slightly deadened eyes.

My beating heart was calming a bit, and I took a moment or two to look around the room. I'd been home from Minnesota for two days now, and as much as I loved my cozy little apartment, I missed the musty hotel bed I'd spent two restful evenings in. At least there I wasn't woken up at strange hours by dead little blonde girls. Oh, and not to mention the fact that I had a pretty decent lookin' bedmate back in the ol' hotel room, too.

Hot _damn_.

From my left, there was sun shining through my window, a faint chirping of birds in the distance. It was a perfect May morning, not a cloud in the sky, not even a little nip in the breeze. By all means, it should've been a perfectly average, uneventful day. But I had a funny feeling it wasn't going to end up like that.

"Seriously Chick," I said, attempting to get rid of the irritation simply oozing from my voice - she didn't deserve it, not completely anyways. "What's up? You've been acting weird for a couple of weeks now. Is everything alright?"

She looked at me rather contemplatively, before sinking down even further than I thought humanly possible into my mattress. Her large blank eyes were sad, more dead looking then I'd ever seen them. She folded her thin arms over top of one another, crossed her lanky legs beneath her.

"Something bad is going to happen, Harlow," she said hoarsely.

"Ah, Chick, c'mon - "

"No, please - listen," she said softly, in a voice so vulnerable it made me stop my arguing immediately. "There's ... there's something going on. I don't know if it's in _my_ world, or if it's in _your_ world, or ... or what, alright? But there's something happening."

"Like what?" I asked patiently, folding my own legs beneath me.

She shook her head, closing her eyes in avid concentration. "I .. I don't know. Something really bad. I feel like something really bad is going to happen."

"You mean to you? Or to me?" I asked, and a terrible thought passed through my mind. "Or you mean .. in the world? You can't predict things like 9/11, can you?"

She shook her head. "No, I can't. I don't know any other person like me who can, either. It's you, Harlow. There's this thing, this .. presence, I guess. It's following you around. You're losing your light."

I frowned, trying to hide the shudder that had just run through my body.

I didn't feel any different. I felt the same as I always had. Perhaps happier then I ever had, truth be told. I was in a relationship, one I was ridiculously comfortable and happy in. With the exception of Sophie, I had never been closer to _any_ of my friends. Financially, I was doing pretty well and all of my marks and courses were fantastic. If there was ever a time in my life when I thought everything was going alright, now would've been it.

I pondered the fact that maybe - _maybe _- Chick was just being paranoid. I mean, how long on this Earth after you've died do things start to get boring? Maybe she was making the whole thing up? Well no, that was a bit harsh. Maybe she was just imagining it? Or maybe there was something wrong with **her**, not _me_? That was always a possibility, wasn't it? It made more sense then something going on with myself. I'd have felt it if there was some weird, dark thing following me around, right? Let's face it, I'm already sorta sensitive to that kind of thing.

I leaned back against my headboard, looking thoughtfully at the clearly distraught Chick.

"Chicky," I said quietly. "Maybe it's just ... a passing presence, or something. I don't know. I feel great, Chick. Life is actually working out right now. Everything's going well. If you'd come up to me at any other time, any point in the last 4 years and said what you're saying now to me - I'd be freaking out a lot more. But right now? I'm the happiest I've been in ... well, _ever_, really."

"Maybe this thing like ... _feeds_ on happiness?" she said hopelessly, running a hand through her fine hair.

"I've never heard of a thing that feeds on happiness," I said reasonably. "If I was going to be attacked or something by a bad spirit, they'd have kicked my ass when I was already feelin' down and out, you know what I mean? It's not in the nature of a ghost - or of _anyone_, really - to try and attack the strongest person in a room. You go for the weak ones.

"I don't know," she said, crumpling sadly into an even smaller ball at the foot of my bed. "I just ... I feel it, Harlow. I can't ignore a feeling, especially one that's so strong."

I nodded, feeling an inexplicable urge to comfort her, but knowing fully well I couldn't come any closer to her without her freaking out.

"It's okay, Chick," I said quietly, with a small smile. "It'll be alright. I'm always here for you, alright? And hey, if something happens, if my entire world falls to shit - I still have you, right?"

"Always," she whispered. "You always will."

I felt my heart crumple into a million pieces as one lone tear trailed down her face, off her chin, and fell onto my sheets.

And perhaps saddest of all, there was no stain where that teardrop fell.

Ghosts can't cry, not properly anyways. But I'll be damned if they can't feel what we do. _Exactly_ what we do. A teardrop is still a teardrop, regardless of how big of a mark it leaves.

Misery knows no bounds.

**(Ryan)**

"Well you got rid of it, didn'tcha?"

I smiled, leaning back in my cushy chair. "Seems that way. Knock on wood, anyways, but the entire home felt better the day after dead time. Like all the darkness had been sucked out."

I heard Chip breathe a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. "Good. That's good. Whenever there's children involved .. well, you know."

"Course."

It'd been a little over a day since my team had gotten back from Minnesota. After dead time and a very _very_ thorough house cleansing, there seemed to be no more angry spirits left in the Montague home. When Tia had come home from her slumber party at Auntie Marnie's, she had skipped right off to her room - no signs of fear. Even Marie had looked better - her color had improved and we'd greeted her the next day to see her all dolled up, full makeup and fancy clothes. That was the woman I imagined she'd been before.

When asked, Tia assured us she no longer felt the scary, faceless man in her home. And she couldn't find her little friend, either. But she didn't seem to dwell on it - she'd invited us all into her little room for tea five minutes after she'd arrived home. It was cases like that, that seemingly ended so well that made me feel entirely better about the job I was doing. It solidified the fact that yeah, maybe I **was **helping people after all.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it, just got home a couple of hours ago."

"It's really no problem, Chip. We called Michelle in, she was in the state over. Easier drive for her."

"Why didn't you call Harlow?"

I heard the nonchalance forced in his voice, and I couldn't help the burst of laughter escape from my throat. I'd forgotten to tell Chip about mine and Harlow's little deal ...

"She _was_ there, actually," I explained. "But not as a psychic. As the psychologist."

Chip was silent for a moment, but when he spoke, it was in a voice that was quite similar to an adult trying to reason with a very little child.

"She was there as the _psychologist_, even though she's a _psychic,"_ he said slowly, clearly trying to attempt to wrap his brain around it. "But .. why?"

"We had Michelle, I - "

"Oh no no, don't get me wrong! Michelle's fantastic, dead on, one of the best in the business there's no doubt about it! I was just ... c_onfused_, I suppose is the word. Why call in a psychic when you've already got one right there?"

"Harlow needs to do some work for classes," I said. "She needs to either intern in a psychology business or building or in a school or mental institution or something - she needs to do real evaluations on real people. Our old psych, Jamie - you remember her? - she's out on maternity leave, so we had a space open for Lo. She decided to take it."

"And that was alright with her? Harlow, I mean. She didn't ... _want_ to do a walk through or anything?"

I pondered the question a moment. "Mm .. no. She didn't. It was a case for the show, actually, there were cameras there and everything. Harlow didn't really want anything to do with it."

"Did she pick up on anything?" he asked.

"Yep," I said, with a faint smile. "I think she was having a hard time _not_. She's so sensitive to the paranormal, even when she's focusing on other tasks it's right there, you know?"

"Too well," Chip said solemnly. "She's just got to learn to turn it on and off. It takes practice, and time. She'll be able to eventually."

"I hope so," I said earnestly. "It really drains her, having to focus on that stuff all the time."

"Yeah, yeah I imagine it does," Chip said, but his voice was suddenly thoughtful. "Say, how **is** Harlow these days?"

I frowned. "Good, I think? She's doing well in school - top marks again. She's happy, from what I can tell."

"Good, that's good," Chip said distractedly. "She hasn't been complaining about .. headaches, or say .. like, weird dreams or anything, has she?"

"Mm, not that I've heard," I said, slightly puzzled. "Why, what's up?"

"Oh no, nothing," Chip said hastily, attempting a rather cheery tone. "Just wondering. We go way back, Lo and I. Just checking in every now and then."

"Oh come on, Coffey," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're a fantastic medium, but you're a terrible liar. What's up?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said, trying to brush it off. "I was just thinking of ... naw, it's nothing."

"What, Chip. You can tell me."

There was a faint pause on the phone, and for a moment I thought I'd lost him.

"Chip?"

"I'm here, sorry. Here."

"What's up, Chip?"

"I had a weird dream," he said thoughtfully. "Little over a week ago."

"About Harlow?"

"No, no ... I don't believe so," he said, but his voice was rather unsure. "Just .. made me think of her, that's all."

"What was the dream about?" I asked, trying without much success to not sound like I was prying.

"Well that's the thing," Chip said, in slight frustration. "I don't remember it. I remember waking up, it was .. well it was a bit of a nightmare, actually. And then I fell back asleep. But when I woke up again later on in the morning, I could barely remember it."

I frowned. Hadn't I had a similar episode a couple of weeks ago?

"I don't understand how that has to do with Harlow, though," I said curiously.

"Me neither," he said, and I heard honest confusion in his chipper voice. "All I remember is waking up, and wanting very desperately to talk with Lo."

"That's strange," I said, leaning back even further in my desk chair. "Did you end up calling her?"

"No, no I didn't," he said. "I just went on with my day, tried to forget it."

"Well it clearly worked," I said with a slight laugh. "You can't remember any of it."

He laughed as well. "No, apparently laundry helps take the mind off things. All I remember - and I don't know how this fits into the dream or what part it had in it - is the color green. Not just green, green. Like a ... celery green. Or an emerald green. A very bright, very vivid green."

I felt my heart skip three beats, my stomach churn painfully.

"Green?"

"Yeah, like .. a harlequin color. Foresty."

Eyes. The green eyes, just like in _my_ nightmare.

Chip laughed. "That's all I can remember, though. Crazy, isn't it?"

Green.

Specifically, emerald green.

Bright, dazzling - filled with pain.

"Ryan?"

**(Harlow)**

_When we rationalize, we are distorting the facts to make the event or our own impulses less threatening; that is, diluting the anxiety to a manageable level. We often come to believe our own distortions, or excuses, or even lies._

I scribbled the short piece down onto my already jampacked piece of looseleaf - that Sigmund Freud. Interesting guy. Complete nutcase, but fascinating all the same.

I was seated way in the back of the University library, beside a large and rather intimidating bookshelf that loomed high and mighty over my tiny little table. All around me, I was surrounded by inches thick books chronicling everything from Pseudo-Sexual Stages of Development to the Theory of Transference and Trauma. Not the best reads, but they were helping me get through my page long list of essays and other things to do. Couldn't complain.

The library was relatively dead today, a shocker for this time of the year. Exams were only days away, and in times like these, every table is usually packed full with under-Grads ripping their hair out and chugging small pails full of coffee. Today, there was barely anyone else in here but me.

Attempting without much success to focus on the jumble of words in front of me, I made a few corrections here and there, substituted a word on this page, added a whole other sentence on the other. I was about ready to give up and go find the closest burger joint, when there was a light thud from across the table, and a figure took a seat directly in front of me.

"You're gonna go cross eyed from all that reading, y'know."

I peered up, and couldn't help the grin that slid across my face.

"You're one to talk, Mister Paranormal Professor - you spend half your days reading through essay after essay."

Ryan smiled. "You'll still like me if I'm a googley-eyed monster, won't you?"

"I suppose I could find a place in my heart," I sighed.

He was looking a little tired today, truth be told. There was a distinctly ruffled look about him, and an undeniable gleam of worry in his dark eyes. He looked at me a little strangely today, his glance filled with more concern then usual. Maybe he noticed that I hadn't showered ... crap. Was a look of that much sincere worry really from me looking like a dirty greaseball? God, I hoped not.

He laughed, taking a book nimbly off my pile of eight thousand. "Structural and Topographical Models of Personality. I think I just fell asleep."

I rolled my eyes, snatching the book back from him - there was a light of amusement twinkling mischievously in his deep brown eyes.

"It's interesting, you know," I sniffed haughtily, giving him a slight little wink. "It's a boring title, but it all goes back to the groundwork about how our personalities are developed."

"Is that right?" Ryan asked, leaning on the table.

I nodded. "In fact, in twenty questions or less, I could lay out for you _exactly_ why you're such a hardworking, albeit stubborn, bullheaded individual. It all lies in ten simple questions about your childhood."

He grinned, but feigned a look of deep hurt. "I'm not stubborn."

"You don't think so? Explain to me why not."

"Don't you psychoanalyze me, Vincent," he said, causing both of us to laugh quietly in the near dead silent library. "I get your point though. I personally couldn't even get through a chapter on this stuff without falling asleep, but ... to each their own."

I smiled. "Exactly. What brings you to the library?"

"I wanted onion rings," he said sarcastically.

"Hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside."

He grinned. "Actually, I came to find you. Pretty sad that I knew exactly where to look for you on a Tuesday afternoon, isn't it?"

"This is my life," I sighed. "Library, bed and kitchen. What were you looking for me, for?"

"To show you this," he said, yanking a folded piece of paper from his bag. "Thought it might interest you."

I took the paper from his hand and unfolded the yellowed sheet carefully. It was an old newspaper clipping, from back in the 80's:

**FATHER OF THREE SURVIVES SUICIDE ATTEMPT, REST OF FAMILY MURDERED**

_Quiet Minneapolis Suburb Rocked By Botched Attempt On Life In An Apparent Murder-Suicide_

_BY DEMETRI GLEESON, MAY 9TH 1982 _

_A small Minneapolis neighborhood was awoken early this morning by the sound of a shotgun blast, coming only yards away from their homes. Upon further inspection, the neighbors were shocked and horrified to see forty two year old John Seabrin lying in his front yard, bleeding profusely from the face. At first, many of the neighbors were under the assumption it was from a botched robbery attempt, but upon closer inspection, the handful of people realized it was, in fact, a failed suicide attempt._

_"We heard a noise, my husband and I," Tara Stevens, a thirty six year old mother of two says. "I live right across the street from the Seabrins. My husband, Tyler, went out to see what the fuss was along with everyone else down the block, and - we, we saw him. Just lying there."_

_Although little details are known (the police are withholding information until the extended family can be contacted) about what exactly happened in the quaint house on 104 Harrow Street, there are reports from the neighbors that Mr. Seabrin hadn't been around the house in almost seven months._

_"I heard they were splitting up," one neighbor, whose identity was asked to be withheld, said. "Things hadn't been going well between the two of them."_

_Minneapolis police have confirmed that four other bodies were removed from the house, and that they did indeed belong to Mrs. Janet Seabrin and her three children, Nancy(11), Peter(8) and John Junior (5). John Seabrin is currently in critical condition at the Lady of Saints Hospital._

I stared down at the sheet in my hands, feeling a very cold chill run through my entire body.

"Harrow street," I said softly. "Isn't that - "

"Marie and Teddy's," Ryan said, with a gentle nod. "Here, take this one."

He handed me another piece of paper, and I unfolded it:

**MINNESOTA HUSBAND CHARGED WITH FIRST DEGREE MURDER DIES IN HOSPITAL**

_Details Still Unclear On The Exact Cause Of Death_

_BY SARAH STONER, JULY 29TH, 1982_

_John Seabrin, the man charged with slaughtering his entire family, has died today in the Lady of Saints Hospital. He was forty two years old._

_Details have yet to be released on the exact cause of death, but information has leaked that it was caused by sepsis of Mr. Seabrin's extensive head trauma. Early in the morning of May 8th, Seabrin murdered his wife and three young children in their home on 104 Harrow Street. After attempting to take his own life with a shotgun, he miraculously survived the blast to the head and managed to stumble into his front yard where he collapsed. Comatose since the tragic day, the police were never able to get a statement from Seabrin. All those close to the family suspect Seabrin snapped after being served with divorce papers from his wife, Janet._

Above the article was a photo of John Seabrin, clearly taken before his botched suicide attempt.

"That's the guy you saw?" Ryan asked.

I frowned, shrugging my shoulders. "I think so .. the man I saw didn't have much of a face, it's sort of hard to tell. You're pretty sure this is the guy though?"

"We're positive," Ryan said with a slight nod."Elf did research after Michelle's walk-through. Found all these old news article clippings. Found an autopsy report as well."

"And?"

"You and Michelle were both right. Entire half of his face, blown off completely."

I shuddered. "You should've seen it. I'm glad you didn't, but .. "

"I can't imagine it," he said quietly. "And the little boy, we're assuming it was his oldest son."

I nodded. "Tia said his name was Peter, and that he was eight years old. Did you tell Marie about this?"

Ryan shook his head. "We thought better of it."

I couldn't help but agree. There's one thing to come to the realization and acceptance that your house is being plagued by ghosts, but to see article clippings like these ones? It would've sent her over the edge. We'd left out all the grizzly details of Seabrin's face, but we had told her there was a slightly disfigured man haunting the home. Even that little bit of information had freaked her out. Can you imagine what _this_ would've done to her?

"The house cleanse went well, though," I said, more to reassure myself then really ask the question. "Nothing going on anymore, right?"

Ryan nodded, small smile lighting up his face. "From what we could tell, whatever had been haunting the home had been eradicated by the time we left."

I felt a calm flow through my body, and I lay my hand over Ryan's warm one. "Good work, Boss. I'm - I .. "

I felt that serenity leave my body in a split second, being replaced with an all consuming rush of fear and panic. I stared, mouth slightly agape, over at the center of the library. Ryan, clearly sensing my sudden onset terror, peeked over his shoulder, and I heard a low hiss escape from his throat.

In the middle of the room, a slight, beautiful, honey blonde girl stood pouring over a handful of textbooks. Sophie's eyes were glued down on the pages of her journal. I felt the blood drain from my face, the air escape from my lungs. I hadn't seen her at all - not since last practice, when the whole world fell to shit. She looked the same - had I really expected differently? It'd only been a little over a week, after all. But there she was. My beautiful Sophie, so poised, so icy - so terrifying in her own right.

"You okay?" Ryan said quietly, and I turned to see him searching my face in earnest concern.

I nodded, trying to find my voice again. "Yeah. Sorry. I just .. haven't seen her."

"Not even once?" he asked, frowning.

I shook my head. "Not since that night."

Ryan nodded, peering crossly over his shoulder. "_That_ night."

I heard faint footsteps, and saw a frail looking white blonde girl move towards the statuesque figure of Sophie. Long hair up in a knot on the back of her head, pale blue eyes visible from even _this_ far away. Ainslee. It'd been equally long since I'd seen her too - it felt like there were little daggers ripping at the inside of my heart.

Unlike Soph, Ainslee seemed to notice Ryan and I straight away. She looked - with a glare of pure fury and horror - towards us, then rushed up to Sophie's side. Her head bowed, I could barely make out her thin lips moving only inches from Sophie's ear.

"That's .. Ashlee?" Ryan guessed, looking back over at me.

"Ainslee," I whispered.

"Right, Ainslee," he sighed. "I've heard Kimmy talk about her."

I smiled, although it felt rather unnatural at this point in time. "Don't listen to everything Kimmy says. Ainslee's ... she's not a bad person. She's just impressionable, that's all."

"I think Kimmy's got a better overall interpretation of her," Ryan argued softly. "Face it, Lo. You could make a case for Hitler if you needed to. You can see the good in everybody, even if there's clearly more bad."

"Who's the psych major now," I muttered.

Sophie's ice blue eyes peered up from her notebook, glanced over nonchalantly at my table. For a minute - one sliver of a second - I almost thought she'd smile and walk over. Just like old times, you know? And for a moment, it seemed like she was going to. But she hesitated - something I'd never seen Soph do before. And instead of walking _towards_ me -

she walked away.

There was a pain in my chest, one I hadn't felt since early last week. It was one I hoped I'd never feel again. But here it was, back with a vengeance. The ripping and tearing of my heart. The complete rush of misery that enveloped me completely in it's sadness.

Was I really that bad? Was I really such a terrible person? A _freak?_ Maybe. But I thought if I just gave it time, things could go back to how they used to be. How I wanted them to be. Simple. Care-free. But in all honesty, it didn't seem like they would. I missed Sophie. She was the Yin to my Yang. The peanut butter to my jelly. The Angelina to my Brad. She was fearless but cautious. Aggressive but sly. Powerful. Brilliant. She was my girl.

I realized a moment later, Ryan was no longer across the table from me - he was seated next to me, now, large body only inches from my own. His arm, so lean, so warm, curled around my shoulders, and I leaned carefully against his side. Rested my cheek on his shoulder. I wouldn't cry - I refused to. Now was not the time, and absolutely **not** the place. Frankly, I wasn't sure I _could_ cry. I was too shocked.

"It'll be alright."

"I know," I said quietly.

"When do you have to see her again?" he asked.

"Tonight, and tomorrow," I said, feeling cold just at the thought of it.

"Really? Why?"

"Practice tonight," I said softly. "Game tomorrow."

"How's that going to work?" he asked curiously.

Good question.

I peered up at his face, so handsome and so sweet. "I don't know. We'll have to make it, that's all."

He nodded, giving my forehead a very light peck. "You've got Kimmy, and you've got Lindsey. And Emma, Jenn, Jess. Meagan."

"And you," I whispered.

Interesting fact: no matter how miserable you feel in a library at any given time, a quick, steamy makeout session with Ryan Buell under a rickety wooden table can fix the hurt.

My _God_, could it ever.

**(Kimmy)**

"What, she's just gonna set the practice time and date and _not_ even show up?"

Lindsey was furious - rare for her, lemme tell ya. Her face was set in hardened anger, arms folded crossly across her chest. She was the only one standing, staring furiously at the auditorium doors. I looked in slight amusement but equal amounts frustration over to my left at Jenn - she was looking curiously up at Linds. You see? Highly uncommon for _any_ of us to see Lindsey like this.

"Don't worry about it," Harlow said softly, who was seated cross legged on the floor of the gym. "They'll show up, I'm sure. And if they don't - well, that's fine."

I grinned, leaning back against the bleachers. "Look on the bright side, you guys. We still have a full team, right? There's seven of us. Even if those asswipes no show tonight _and_ tomorrow, we still got a full roster, _plus_ a spare."

"It just won't be the same though," Jenn sighed dramatically. "You guys **know** we can't play without them! Without Kenzie's constant ball fumbling, Ash's constant wedgies and Natalie's tits falling out of her shirt at any given time, we're destined to lose!"

There was a roar of laughter from the entire team - minus Harlow. It was true, really. All the best players, aside from Sophie, were already seated in the room. Jenn and I were both liberos, third and fourth best only to Soph and Harley. Jess, tiny as she was, was still by far the best spiker on the team. Em was without a doubt a better middle blocker then Ashlee, and Linds and Meagan were the best setters this sport had seen in years. Sure, we didn't have either of our servers - but how fuckin' hard was it to smack a ball over a net with your fist? If Natalie could do it, a blind kid with no arms in a wheelchair on crack could.

Harlow took a sip from her water bottle, and peered up at the large clock on the opposite wall. "We'll give it another ten minutes. They don't show up, we'll start without them."

"Don't go easy on us, Lo," I grinned. "We're here to work our asses off."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, her own cheeky smile lighting up that gorgeous face.

"I still don't understand how you can be late - or no show - to your **own** God damn practice," Lindsey huffed, plopping down on the bleachers next to me.

"Maybe she forgot," Harlow said, but even she didn't sound like she much believed it.

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen Sophie at all in the last couple days," Jess said softly.

"Me neither," Emma said thoughtfully, stretching her long leg across the bench. "Maybe she moved to Albania, but let's not get our hopes up."

"I saw her this afternoon," Harlow said quietly, looking distractedly at the opposite end of the gym. "Library. She was with Ainslee."

"Gross," Jenn sniffed. "Who hangs out with Ainslee by choice?"

"My thoughts exactly," I laughed.

"Did she look sick?" Meagan asked.

Harlow shook her head. "Looked fine to me, but she was a good distance away."

"Didn't come and talk to you or anything, did she?" Lindsey asked.

Harlow shook her head again. "No. Why would she? Plus, I was with Ryan. The day she came over to either of us would be the day Hell freezes over, nevermind approaching _both _of us at once."

"Fair enough," I sighed.

The whole situation between the two of them, it made me feel terrible. They had always been a pair, Harlow and Sophie. You never saw one without the other. They were like fire and ice, complete opposites, but somehow able to find a happy medium. But now, that same incompatibility that had brought them together was tearing them ferociously apart. Harlow was too meek, too shy to approach her. Sophie was too stubborn. Harlow was quiet, content with blending into the crowd. Sophie was loud, ice cold in her abrasiveness. It was a pairing that never should of worked in the first place, but now that it _didn't_, the world just didn't seem right.

Sophie'd been wrong. We **all** knew that. But as big of a bitch as she was, I didn't want this to go on any longer. I'd be willing to forgive Sophie for all the terrible things she said - I knew Harlow already had - if she'd just come back and be _our_ Sophie again.

I would do anything in my power to help the two of them make amends. I would circle this Earth a million times or more. I would walk through the fiery gates of Hell and back if it meant they'd learn to love each other again. I'd give up anything I had to make them okay. But nothing I had could fight Sophie's stubbornness. Nothing I possessed could push Harlow to make the first step. It was a sad fact, but it was a true one. One I had to face.

But it didn't change the fact that I'd give my life to bring these two together again. I'd give anything.

**(Sophie)**

_She was so beautiful - and so familiar looking._

_A mane of chestnut brown hair. A face as round and sweet as an apple. Bright eyes, round and dazzling. I knew her, I had to know her - but I knew for a fact I'd never seen her before._

_"Who are you?" I asked, reaching a hand out to touch her._

_She was just a little too far away, just a foot or so too far. I could've touched her if she'd only move a step or two forward._

_"Help her," the little girl said. "Help her."_

_I was confused._

_"Help who?" I asked._

_"Help her," the little girl said again, but her voice was higher now, more petrified then before. "Please, warn her. It's coming, it's coming."_

_"What's coming? Warn who?"_

_The girl opened her mouth wide, eyes round and terror-stricken. And then, as suddenly as her voice had changed, so did she._

_It was like an explosion, a silent one that you can't hear but terrifies you more than one you can. Her hair began to blow, wildly, uncontrollably around her face. Her scalp split in two, right down the middle. It shook and twisted and fell about her face, the flaps of skin and strands of hair falling to pieces at her feet._

_I wanted to scream, to vomit - but I couldn't do anything. I was frozen in place, feet away, but unable to help, to move - to cry._

_There was blood, blood everywhere - down her face, her front, her hands. Crimson marked every last inch of her._

_Her mouth opened once more in a scream, this time loud and blood-curdling. Those eyes, as far and wide as a desert, green as a freshly polished emerald._

_Those eyes - the last things I saw before she exploded into a blast of dust, the strands of hair and skin still piled where her feet had just stood._

"HOLY **SHIT**."

I jolted awake, grabbed my own face in my clammy hands. I was sweaty, but beneath my hands I could still feel my face, fully intact. I ran a hand over my head. Still alright. Still one piece. I wasn't splitting in two.

I sat up in my bed, peered over at the clock. Midnight. I'd barely been asleep for an hour, and already I'd been jolted awake, thrown back into reality. My heart was racing, beating a painful tattoo against my chest. My hands were clammy, a thin layer of sweat coated my entire body. I had chills, but it wasn't from being cold.

I fumbled for the lamp, missing three times before I was able to hit the little switch beneath the lightbulb. My room was illuminated with the pulsating light, but my fears remained. Tight in my chest, like a corset of horror.

I kicked the sheets away from my legs, curled up into a little ball, leaning against the large oak headboard behind me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a nightmare - not since I was just a little girl, that was for sure. And never - not _ever_ - had they been that **vivid**.

Normally whenever I woke up from a dream, I forgot it within seconds of opening my eyes. But this was different. I could recall every part of it, every last detail. Every last horrific moment of it. But it wasn't the blood that was making me nauseous, or the splitting of the skull or the screams. It was the girl, that tiny little girl.

She couldn't have been older then ten. And she couldn't have been more beautiful, _or_ more familiar looking. The more I thought about her, the sicker I became.

She could've been Harlow. Easily. The beauty part was dead on. The eyes, that same brilliant color I'd always admired so much. They were the exact shade of the little girls. But there were differences between the two, obvious ones. Like someone had carved the girl and Harlow out of the same magnificent jewel, but with deliberate mistakes.

The jawline had been different. The girls was much rounder, softer. Less defined then Harlow's razor sharp one. The cheeks were thinner, the nose a little longer and less rounded. The hair was a shade or two lighter then Lo's. The skin, just a little milkier. The eyes were more almond shaped, not the round globes of Harlow's.

But if this girl wasn't Harlow, who was she? Why did she look so familiar?

I rested a head against my backboard, looking in a daze up at the roof. The paint was peeling, only slightly, and there was a tiny watermark that resembled some kind of fish in the far corner. I considered going back to bed, falling back asleep - but my racing heart heard nothing of it. I was awake, wide awake, and there would be no changing that.

I stretched my legs, flopped over to the edge of my bed, struggled into my slippers and padded out into my tiny little living room. Dropping onto the couch, I reached for the remote and turned the television on. Not to watch - just for some background noise.

I couldn't go to bed again. Not after that.

Tonight, sleep would elude me.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL'S! Hope you're all fabulous and darling and wonderful as always, but really, I don't doubt you are! I've quit that God awful job I got shafted into, and now I have nothing but spare time to pump out a couple more chapters to tide you lovelies over. Although it won't bring anyone happiness, you've been warned again - this story is only gettin' darker. Sad. Face. :( ON TO MY THANK YOU'S.

**WinchesterAngel3389: **Oh, I could NOT agree more. I'd take a week of the worst hangovers known to man in order to be able to party with dear Mr. Buell. In fact, I'd take a month of them just to be able to meet that sexy beast. I'm a genius? Oh please. YOU are the genius. And the sweetest. A sweet genius, your mama must be so proud! Thank you for the review, I simply adore you!

**kcollins720:** ME sweet? OH NO, you are simply the sweetest human being on the face of this earth! AND the most loyal, might I add. Your review, as always, brought a smile to my face, and I could never than you enough :)

**nouseforaname89: **Hello my nameless but wonderful reviewer! Oh if anyone knows anything about Geek Love, it is I. There is nothing sexier then a guy that can fix my computer AND that wears a pocket protector. There's something so loveable about them, isn't it? You don't know if you want to give them a wedgie or a big big big kiss. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for the review!

**PSUPRS: **SORA MY LOVE! I know I know, I'm a terrible person and everyone hates Sophie. Would it make you feel better if I told you that she may possibly, potentially, I'm-notgiving-anything-away redeem herself? Not saying she's goooooing to ... but y'know. As always, your novel of a review left me with butterflies and tears and a heart full of hot burnin' love. Be mine, forever and ever? Thank you thank you for the review! xo

**akahitoha: **You know what's truly amazing? You. And know what's even more amazing then that? My sincere, deep, undying love for your amazingness. CLEARLY, we are best friends forever and ever. Like that was ever even a question. People like me would not exist without wonderful beautiful undeniabley awesome people like you. Muchmuch love, thank you for the review!

**futureauthor62: **WELL, be still my bespeckled heart, you made my entire life! I'm so glad I'm not the only complete nut who hides under covers. I honestly think I'll be 50 and still following that rule. I also follow the universal rule that says if you sing really loud in creepy basements, nothing can get you. It's a fact. I've yet to be captured, because I sing Jingle Bells at the top of my voice when I go do laundry. Thank you for the amazing review, I love you more than a dog loves milkbones!

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction: **Your reality may be fiction, but my love for you is completely real! I'm sorry, that was a littttttle spoiler, but I'm not takin' it back! It will devastate many readers, it devastated me and I haven't even written that chappy yet. But actually, now that I think about it .. it'll be the chapter after that when life really gets hard :( Bah. OH NO, don't shank me! But even if you do, our FanFic Love Relationship will continue past the grave. And yes. I meant that as creepy as it sounded. :D Love you! Thank you so much for the wonderful review!

**XDeadlyImperfectionX: **Can not tell you if there's gonna be another fight! You have to wait and see :P But that picture didn't work for me! :( Resend if you can, I'm interested to see what other people make of the creepy faceless dude! Thanks for the review :) You're my sweetest sweet pea alive, much love! xo

ALRIGHT LOVERS. I'm off to finish Chapter 23, work 6 days straight, and then start on Chapter 24. And then, comes the dreaded Chappy 25/26, which I will be writing in a mound of kleenex because what happens upsets me more then life itself. It might not kill you as much as it kills me, but this is mah little baby and everytime I do something like I'm about to do, it kills a little piece of me. Le Sigh. Much love, thank you all so much for the reviews and have a wonderful rest of your week!

**love always; **ellah!


	24. Denver, Denture, Old People Duh

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Denver, Denture, Old People. Duh.

**(Heather)**

"What do you mean they didn't show up?"

Harlow shrugged her shoulders, taking a dainty little sip from her bottle of apple juice. Mm mm mm. Look at those lips on the rim of her apple juice bottle. Sexy girl.

GAH, STOP IT HEATHER. STOP IT STOP IT **STOP** IT.

"Didn't show up to practice," she sighed, looking glumly over the lawns of our little campus.

"Wait wait .. wasn't Sophie the one who _made_ the practice date?" Katrina asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

Harlow nodded. "Yep. Guess she forgot."

"Forgot my ass, what a bitch," Kat muttered.

Harlow laughed. "Have you ever met Kimmy Morris? She's on the team. I think you'd like her."

"So what are you guys - oop, _girls_, no offense sweet Vincent-meister - gonna do about the game tonight, then?" I asked.

Harlow smiled, but shrugged those tiny shoulders again. "Play. We've still got seven people on the team. Six play, one stays off. We just have to pray to God no one hurts themselves, or we're shit out of luck."

On this bee-ah-**yew**-tee-full, sunny day in the early month of May (hey, I rhymed!), Harlow, Katrina and I were seated on the lawn on the main campus in Penn State. To our left, hot shirtless men playing a dirty game of football. To our right, kids as white as my ass in black leather playing an equally - if not _more_ so - dirty game of Dungeons and Dragons. Up on the steps, students lounging around, reading textbooks. The weather brought out the good, the weird, the ugly, the _hot_ and the happy in everyone. Yeah it was exam week, so what? THE SUN DOESN'T BOW TO YOUR EXAM REGIME, UNIVERSITY. BWAHAHAHA. KNEEL BEFORE YOUR NEW KING, THE SUN OF SPACE.

Christ, exams made me fuckin' weird.

The lovely Kat and I had invited Harlow out on a romantic - oop, I meant _platonic_ - picnic in the campus grounds, and she'd cheerfully accepted (probably cause she knew she got to hang out with me ... _duh_). We kinda figured since she was going to be pulling those luxurious locks of hair out by nine this evening on account of the fact that she had fourth year exams and _two_ elimination volleyball matches all in one week, it'd be nice to get her out into the relaxing sunlight.

Katrina, who'd been shooting me dirty looks ever since I pulled my lunch out of my backpack (what's the matter with a quart of potato salad and half of a roasted chicken, I ask you?), pecked lightly on carrot sticks and turkey sandwiches with Harlow. Don't know why she was so miserable today - Harlow'd happily accepted a few forkfuls of Heather Taddy's delishioso Tater Salad. Well, actually I kind of shoved my fork down Lo's throat in overzealous excitement, but she assured me she wanted some anyways.

Oooh! Maybe that's why Katrina was mad. I _embarrassed_ her. Whateva, love me or leave me, bitchtits!

"Don't worry about the game tonight," Katrina said reassuringly. "You guys are the best team we've had in years, regardless of whether or not you have a full roster. You'll do great."

"Yeah, and it's Denver University anyways," I sniffed. "Don't even worry. 'Denver' sounds like 'Denture'."

"How does that have anything at _all_ to do with .. well, with **anything**?" Katrina asked, looking irritably over at me.

Uh. _Duh_.

"Because 'denture' makes you think of old people. Old people can't play volleyball. Well they can, but not well. Denver - denture - old people - can't play volleyball. See?"

"Yeah, how could you not have made that connection, Katrina?" Harlow asked, brilliant grin lighting up her face.

Kat rolled her eyes. "How silly of me."

"I actually heard they're a pretty good team," Harlow said, leaning back on her arms.

"We also heard NYU was a pretty good team, and from what I can remember you guys destroyed them," Katrina said cheerfully.

Harlow laughed but shook her head, shaggy brown waves rippling against her shoulders - oh _drool_. "That was back when we were all getting along, though. Teams only work well when everyone's on the same page."

"Fair point," I agreed, curling my legs beneath me. "But lets look at the facts. What are the odds Sophie and those other asstits are going to show up? If they don't, it's the seven of you, and you all get along great. And if they _do_ show up ... ?"

"What are you going to do?" Kat asked.

Harlow was biting her bottom lip, an expression of intense concentration and puzzlement on that pretty face.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I've been trying to figure it out. But .. I don't know."

"Are you going to let them play?" I asked.

Harlow frowned, picking at a spot on the knee of her jeans. "I don't .. I don't know. It wouldn't be fair to _let_ them, would it? But would it really be fair to keep them on the bench the entire time?"

"They didn't show up to practice," I reasoned. "It's their own fault."

"True," Harlow said.

"But they're still apart of the team," Katrina argued thoughtfully. "Can you really afford to ban five people off the court?"

"Also true," Lo sighed.

"Use your judgment, Harlow," I said brightly. "No matter what you choose to do, you've got more then half the team backing you up."

"And you said it yourself," Katrina chimed in - lemme have my glory, you _bitch_. "The best players you have are all on your side. Really, you don't even need the other five. It's your decision, and people will support you no matter what you do."

"We all trust you, Lo," I said. "You gotta do what you gotta do. You'll make the right decision."

"It's a decision I wish I didn't have to make," she said quietly.

"No one would want to make it," Katrina said lightly. "But we believe in you."

Harlow nodded, but looked solemnly out across the campus once more. There was a strange light behind her eyes, a strange twinkling I didn't remember ever seeing before. It was a bizarre glimmer of wickedness for such a weary, wholly innocent face. Strange. A little ... _evil_. It didn't belong with the rest of her facial expression, it was oddly out of place, and rather unsettling. It took me by surprise, but I blinked, and ...

It had disappeared. The deadened, miserable glint had taken over once again. In fact, the fury had been there and gone so suddenly, I easily could've - and probably did - just imagined the malicious twinkle.

Yeah. I must've.

**(Sophie)**

"Jeeze, what took you so long? We've been sittin' here for almost fifteen minutes now!"

"Sorry," I muttered irritably, throwing my bag into the trunk of Ash's car. "Lost track of time."

Ashlee rolled her eyes, and I slid into the front seat next to her. Kenzie, Ainslee and Nat were all jampacked in the backseat. I peered at them through the rearview mirror, and was a little unimpressed to see that they were all looking slightly pleased with themselves as they gazed out the window. Bunch of assholes. Just because I chose to miss the practice didn't mean they had to ...

Switching her gearshift into 'D', Ashlee shot forwards and ebbed quickly and efficiently into the closer lane.

"So, University of Denver, huh?" Ash said, looking calmly through the front window - clearly she was trying to break the inch thick air of silence between the rest of the passengers. Yeah, good _luck_. "We got this."

"I heard they're a shitty team," Mickenzie chimed in, leaning forwards a little, brown eyes wide with smugness. "This should be a breeze."

"You think Harlow's gonna be mad we missed practice?" Natalie said dully, looking between all the people in the car with those wide, vacant eyes.

"Who cares," Ainslee snorted, crossing her thin arms in front of her. "We had other things to do. Although she's _psychic_, so I'm sure she already knew we were going to bail out."

The girls in the car gave a roar of appreciative laughter, but I couldn't really find it in me to join them. Not only was I exhausted (I hadn't slept even a wink last night, not after that _horrific _nightmare), but their redundant jokes were grating on me more and more as time passed on. How many more times could I hear 'well, she _is_ a psychic'or 'well, she **can** see dead people, or so she says' without completely losing my shit on them?

Yeah, hilarious - Harlow's a freak, a delusional nut job who thinks she can talk to ghosts. It was funny the first time, but after the three hundredth it was not only unfunny, but grating and obnoxious. One more crack and I swear I was going to throw myself through the windshield ...

"You don't think she'll bench us all game, do you?" Mickenzie asked, in a voice of very feigned nonchalance.

"Dunno," Ainslee said with a shrug. "Technically, she can't. It's in the rules that you have to give every player equal game time, or else - "

"That's not in the rules," I said irritably. "That's a common misconception. It's not in the rules."

There was an awkward silence that filled the car, but I found myself caring even less then I had before. Right now, my level of irritation was skyrocketing through the roof of this shitty Hybrid. I didn't care if I hurt any of their feelings. They'd been driving me fucking bananas for weeks now. And that voice of Ainslee - my _God_, like nails down a fucking chalkboard. Whoever told her talking through her nose like a retarded 13 year old was cute should be beaten, tarred and feathered.

"Well, you won't let her do that, right Soph?" Ash said calmly, peering cautiously over at me. "She can't make big game decisions without consulting the Assistant Captain, that's - "

"A load of bullshit," I snapped. "She's the Captain, she can do what she wants. I've got no say."

Another awkward silence fell through the car, but this time it was their unflappable sense of fear and uncertainty that eased the angry tension in my gut. I couldn't do shit. Maybe they didn't realize that before, but surely they did now. What could I do? Assistant Captain wasn't even a real position, it was nowhere in the handbook, nowhere in the game rules of regulations. It was something Harlow'd made up when she felt guilty about beating me in tryouts.

But why would these bitchtits have known that? They'd never cared enough to ask. Not me, anyways. And I'm sure they never bothered to ask Lo. Perhaps they should have done their research before turning on Harlow? I was nothing at all without her, maybe they could've kissed her ass instead of mine. Maybe they'd still have friends, still be apart of the team if they'd looked into who really ran the roster.

"Then ... why did we all miss practice?" Natalie asked dimly.

"I didn't feel well," I said tersely. "I stayed home."

"Well we didn't feel welll either," Mickenzie chimed in. "I think it's that twenty four hour bug that's going around, a _lot_ of people - "

"There's no twenty four hour bug going around," I said angrily, that same irritation boiling in the pit of my stomach once more. "But by all means, tell Harlow that. I'm sure it won't look fishy at all that the five people who've been treating her like shit all missed practice because of a fake flu going around campus."

This time the silence that fell over the car wasn't broken, and lasted the rest of the way to the auditorium. I didn't care. I really didn't. Harlow and I were on the outs, which meant more then half the team - girls I'd loved more than life itself only two weeks ago - were _also_ on the outs with me. All I had left? These numbnuts in the back seat.

I'd spent the past two weeks being followed around by them, listening to their low blow jokes about Harley, hearing them talk such terrible shit about her, it almost made me sick. Had they always been like this? When Lo and I were still friends, had they said similar things about _me_? I didn't know. Didn't want to know, really.

I was out of line. But so was Harlow. Why wouldn't she have told me about that ... that _thing_. Why would she have kept that a secret? Weren't we supposed to be best friends? My whole life I was lied to. My mother, my father, all my stupid nannies. No one ever told me what was going on. No one ever included me in anything. They were too busy with their own secrets, with their own dirty lies. So I leave, run away from home, from my family, from everything I didn't know. I come to Penn State. I meet Harlow. Beautiful, wonderful, caring Harlow. I open up to her like I'd never opened up to anyone else before in my life. And I thought she did the same. But no, apparently not. She was just like _everyone_ else in my life. A liar.

The pain of being lied to was nowhere near as terrible as the pain of losing my best friend.

But even the worst pain can be subdued by the all-consuming, indescribable feeling of fury.

**(Lindsey)**

"What do I do?"

Harlow looked exhausted, the poor thing. Her hair was up in a droopy ponytail, and there were deep bags beneath her twinkling green eyes. She even _looked_ paler. All the stress was getting to her, and there was nothing myself or any of the other girls in the locker room could've done for her. A fact we were all horrifically aware of, thank you very much.

Harley was cross legged on the locker room bench, hands folded neatly in her lap. Emma, Jenn, Meagan and Jess were all over on the other end of the room, stretching, tying their shoes, getting ready, talking loudly and excitedly about the game less then five minutes away. Kimmy and I, already fully changed and rarin' to go, were sittin' on either side of Harlow. Kimmy pulled her knees up to her chin, looking thoughtfully across the room at our four little amigos.

"It's a tough situation," she said hesitantly. "What _can_ you do?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Harlow sighed. "I can bench them, but that's five people."

"Might as well just send them home if they're out the entire time," Kimmy said softly.

"But if I let them play, what message does that send? That it's okay for them all to bail out on practice?"

"It's only fair to show them that there **are** repercussions for ditching."

"Both are the right things to do, but they're just as wrong as they are correct," Harlow said in frustration.

"You know what you have to do, don't you?" Kimmy said quietly.

Harlow peered over at her, those brilliant eyes vacant. "I don't want to."

"You've got to," I said.

"Talk to Sophie," Kimmy urged, resting a little hand on Harlow's leg. "It'll suck, but you _know_ it's gonna suck. Just stand your ground. Don't let her walk all over you."

"Easier said then done," she sighed.

"Don't we know it," I said with a little smile. "But no matter what happens Harlow - no matter what _has_ happened - you're the Captain of this team. And you know for a fact that there are 6 people in this locker room that will support you no matter _what_ you choose to do."

"And we're proud of whatever decision you make," Kimmy said, throwing an arm around Lo's shoulders and giving a light squeeze.

"Your biggest flaw, Lo," I said, trying with decent luck to not make my voice sound anywhere even _close_ to accusatory. "Is that you're a doormat about a lot of things. You apologize when things aren't even your fault - "

"I know, I'm sorry," she sighed.

"See?" Kimmy said, rolling her eyes. "You'll let people walk all over you, just because you don't want to upset anyone. But life isn't about walking on eggshells just to avoid a confrontation. You're the Captain of this team. You don't have Sophie anymore to reinforce what you want. You need to stand up for yourself. You don't need to _ask_ us the rules, you need to _tell_ us."

"You're right," she said, but she still looked slightly panic-stricken. "You're both right, as always."

There were faint footsteps, and the door to the locker room clicked open. We all froze, as the muffled voices of four different girls sounded through the room. Seconds later, Sophie, Ashlee, Ainslee, Mickenzie and Natalie all stepped into clear view, looking between the two groups of girls. Natalie and Ainslee looked slightly embarrassed - Ash and Kenzie looked somewhat defiant. Sophie pretended to take no notice of anyone, and instead beelined for her locker across the room.

I peered over at Kimmy, who was looking curiously at Harlow. There was the most peculiar look on our Harley's face - it was this strange, uncommon look of something between panic and fear, mingled with slight irritation and determination. But there was a fire behind her pupils, a burning I didn't recognize. Something malevolent that I'd never even seen a flash of on that beautiful face ever before. I felt a strange chill run through my body - but when I looked back over at her, the fire was gone, and she was looking warily over at the girls once again.

Maybe I'd imagined it? Yeah ... I must've.

"Stand your ground," I heard Kimmy mutter to Harlow under her breath.

Kimmy stood up, and waved a hand over at Emma. "Em, you got any deodorant? I think I forgot mine."

"I don't want your pits _anywhere_ near my speedstick," Emma said, scrunching your nose.

"Oh just let her borrow it," I sighed, shaking off the surprise of Harlow's fury a second before. "If you don't she'll sweat a small lake and we'll all wipe out on the court."

"Friggin' nasty," Jenn laughed, tying her own hair up in a ponytail.

Mine and Kimmy's ploy seemed to work - there was no more awkward silence, just slight laughter between all of Team Harlow. Team Sophie all had their heads bowed, getting ready in record quick time. Clearly, this day had the potential of being one of the most awkward any of us had ever experienced. But we certainly were gonna try and change that.

If not for us, for Harlow.

**(Josh)**

"I don't see _anyone_ from our team."

Heather was practically standing on her chair, peering around the now jam-packed auditorium. There were no seats left, and there were nearly a hundred people standing against the walls around us. I'd never _seen_ the place so packed - it was **insane**.

Across the room, the U of Denver team were all standing in a little circle, huddled close to an older man who I assumed was their Coach. They were looking warily at the packed bleachers, all their faces equally snow white. Poor girls, I'd be shakin' in my Adidas too if I were about to play a team backed by more than a thousand people. Unlike the NYU girls, these ones were all relatively tiny, the tallest_ maybe _standing at 5'5. Harlow'd gone from squaring off against water buffalos to tweaky little squirrels.

In the row beside me, Heather, Katrina, Ryan, Sergey and Eilfie were all seated on the edge of their chairs as well. There was slight murmuring going on around us, a few cheers here and there. But everyone, like us, was waiting for the team to show.

"You don't think they _all_ bailed, do you?" Katrina said with concern, glancing over at Heather.

Tad shook her head. "No, couldn't have - see, look! There they are!"

To an enormous eruption of cheering, ten girls walked out single file from the deep blue locker room doors. Number eight and thirteen were jumping around cheerfully, a small Asian girl and a slightly taller Spanish one. Four or five of the other girls looked nearly as happy as the first two, but there were still a handful who were looking peevish and miserable. Tiny little '17' looked _completely_ horrified.

"Where's Harlow?" Heather said, looking frantically through the lineup.

She was right - Harlow was nowhere to be seen. Nor was her best friend - or perhaps _old_ best friend? - Sophie, the statuesque blonde girl with the hard face.

"She'll be here," Ryan said calmly, but his face was stony with suppressed worry. "She's gotta be here."

**(Harlow)**

"We've got to talk."

Sophie peered up at me, those rarely friendly ice blue eyes even less inviting. She straightened up, which considering we were within an inch of two of each other, wasn't all that intimidating. The look on her face, however, was quite terrifying.

"Now?" she said, voice cold as ice. "We're on in a minute."

"I'm aware," I said, trying desperately to rid myself of that distinctly terrified pitch. "Ahem - sorry. We've got to talk, quickly."

"Make it quick," she said, without looking at me.

Alright, Harlow. Let's do this. Stand your ground, remember what Kimmy said - there's nothing to be afraid of. Unless she pulls a knife. Thankfully, I could run faster then her, so that didn't pose such a huge problem anyways.

"I'm going to bench Mickenzie, Ainslee, Ashlee and Natalie," I said, my voice remarkably calm despite the storm of horror erupting in my gut - it didn't even feel like it _was_ my voice.

She looked at me, expression stony. "Why?"

"They missed practice. They bailed out, it's not fair to the rest of the girls who worked their asses off yesterday."

"Isn't it against the rules to bench someone an entire game?" Sophie said coldly.

I shook my head. "You know it's not, Sophie."

"You gonna bench me too?" she said, voice an attempt at calm but it posed a very icy challenge.

I looked at her, but for once in my life, I wasn't scared.

I didn't know what'd come over me. Even back when Sophie and I were friends, I was always a little bit terrified of her. I know, I know - not the best combination for a pair of best friends. A meek little fearful mouse and an overbearingly aggressive lion. But it had always worked. Right now, however? I felt like how I imagined she did - strong. Brave. Bigger then I actually was. Kimmy had been right - I had to stand my ground.

There was a change in me, I could feel it taking over. I wasn't scared anymore. I was charged, like there were a million volts of electricity running through my veins. I felt untouchable. Ruthless. Unbeatable. There was no more fear, only a hard shock of bravery.

"Not for the entire game, I don't think," I said coolly, in a voice entirely unlike my own. "If I need to rotate anyone, you'll be the first one in."

"How kind of you," she said snidely.

But again, I didn't feel the usual pang of guilt. Or fear. I felt stronger, if anything, then I ever had. My mind was racing, heart pounding. Blood was boiling. She wasn't taking advantage of me, oh no - not this time.

"I know," I said, looking her as sternly as I could in the eye. "But just so _you_ know, regardless of whether or not you're a co-Captain - you don't miss practice. And if you're going to, you call. I won't have the rest of this team fucked over just because of a stupid grudge you and the other half of the team are holding against me, alright?"

She stared at me, clearly a little lost for words. And after that little rant, so was I.

We looked at each other, very curiously. There wasn't anger anymore. There was just ... sincere puzzlement. I'd never stood up to Sophie. And she'd never backed down. But Wednesdays, it seemed, were a day to switch things up. Today, I _would_ be strong. I _would_ stand my ground. I wouldn't be afraid.

Now Sophie was the meek one. I was the strong. She would listen to _me_, not me to _her_. A little part in the back of my brain was screaming at me - _what are you doing? Let it go, Harlow, just back off! _But this new me, this strange new wave of strength that had taken over my entire body - it wouldn't. There would be no backing down. Not today. Not ever.

The curiosity evaporated from Soph's face as quickly as it'd come on, and was replaced with the usual scowl of disgusted fury. There we go, there was the old Sophie. But the old Harlow? She wasn't coming through. Not right now. Not today. I would stand my ground. I **would**.

"Noted," she said simply, turning on her heel and marching out of the locker room.

I took a deep breath, waited to hear the click of the door, and followed her out onto the court.

Stepping through the door into the bright and gleaming lights of the auditorium, I was greeted with such thunderous applause, I was sure I'd go deaf by the end of the match. I smiled, but beelined as quick as I could over to the rest of my team. They all watched me, half with looks of set determination, the other with looks of the utmost loathing. But I didn't care.

So _this_ is what growing a pair felt like.

"Ready to go?" I asked, running a hand through my hair.

"Never been more ready!" Kimmy said merrily.

"Let's kick some Colorado _assssss_," Lindsey cheered.

I grabbed the clipboard nestled under my arm, and flipped to the back page. "Kimmy and Jenn, you're liberos. Jenn take place one, Kimmy you're second. Jess, you're first spiker, Lindsey I want you in the back for setting. Em, you're middle blocking and Meagan, I want you serving."

"She's not even a server," Mickenzie said furiously, shooting me a look of the utmost loathing.

I returned the look as cheerfully as I could. "But she **did** show up for practice."

"I was _sick_," Kenzie said, glaring at me.

"Phone next time," I said simply. "Rest of you, on the bench. And it's the same thing - call if you're missing practice, alright? You're benched for the rest of the game unless I need you."

"You can't actually do that," Ainslee snapped, an even angrier look then Mickenzie's set on her pale face.

Something bubbled inside me, something terrible, something that relished in the power I had over these girls. I smiled, as big and cheerfully as I possibly could - I didn't mean to, I just ... did.

"Oh yeah? Watch me."

"Sophie?" Ashlee said, turning her gaze to Soph. "Tell her - "

"She's your Captain," Sophie said simply, without a second look at me. "You heard her, there's nothing I can do. Park it, girls."

With the exception of Natalie, who always seemed to look vacant, the rest of the girls looked mutinously back at me as they made their way to the bench. Sophie glanced at me, nodded slightly, and went to take her spot on the bench as well. The other girls, all attempting to hide brilliant smiles, ran out onto the court, with the exception of Kimmy.

She grinned, gave me a little wink and said so softly I had to lean in close -

"I'm proud of you."

I nodded, and in spite of the happiness flooding through my body, I felt rather grim.

"Just get out there, Kimmy. Libero your balls off, I don't want to substitute today."

"Balls libero'd off, got it Captain."

**(Eilfie)**

The end of the third quarter.

University of Denver? 2.

Penn State? 17.

I don't want to sound cocky or anything, but - come on. We _got_ this.

For the majority of the game, amidst thunderous applause and raucous cheering, the same six girls had stayed on the court. I assumed the handful of them were Team Harlow. The five seated on the bench - four with rather mutinously angry scowls set on their faces - were Team Sophie. Next to the four glum lookin' girls, on the very edge of the bench, sat who I recognized as Sophie. She didn't look nearly as furious as the rest of the ladies - but she didn't look happy, either.

Although from what I could tell, she rarely ever did.

Every now and then, I'd glance down our row and notice Ryan staring angrily at the thin blonde, seemingly without reason. He'd catch himself, turn away and focus more on the game, but I'd caught him at least three or four times glowering in her general direction. I understood, though - that was Harlow's old best friend. The one who'd turned on her the second she found out the truth about Lo.

Unlike the other girls, Harlow was standing a good ten feet away from the bench, watching with avid interest but an impressive calm as her team manhandled the other team. Frankly, the U of Denver just wasn't up to snuff. At this rate, the game would be over in another couple of minutes, and we hadn't even made it into the last quarter.

"What's she doing?" I heard Sergey mutter from a couple of seats over.

I turned my attention back to the game, and I saw Harlow motioning for a 'Time Out'. The referee blew his whistle and waved her on. She jogged quickly over to the girl in the back, right hand corner, placed a hand on her back. The tiny dark skinned girl looked fine to me, but she was speaking in hushed whispers to Harlow. If anything, she looked more frustrated then hurt.

Harlow was listening intently to her, and the rest of the girls on the court were looking curiously over at the pair of them. Finally, Harlow nodded to the bench and the short black girl shuffled off the court. I saw Harlow exchange a rather dark look with the tiny Asian girl in the front row of the court, as she turned on her heel and headed towards the bench.

Towards Sophie.

"This could be bad," I heard Katrina say quietly, amidst the continuous cheering and yelling of the crowd.

"Could be?" Ryan muttered. "**Will** be."

**(Mickenzie)**

"Sophie, I need you serving."

Harlow stopped a few feet in front of Soph, who remained seated. There was a strange glint in Sophie's eyes, a rather malevolent one, if I wasn't mistaken. I felt my heart swell - if there was anyone who could stand up to Harlow, anyone who wouldn't be deterred by her weird, _freakish_ little self - it was Sophie.

Sophie sniffed and peered up from the bench, leg crossed lazily over the other. "I'm not a server. I'm a libero. Not a server."

Harlow remained quite calm, unusual for her - normally she was as anxious as a little mouse.

"I'm aware of that," she said, the slightest trace of the most un-Harlowlike irritation in her voice. "But we're not _all_ playing our positions today. Meagan's shoulder's acting up, I need you in to serve."

Sophie stared at Harlow, looked lazily over at the rest of us. "Natalie and Mickenzie are the servers. Get one of them."

Harlow blinked, but I was surprised - and a little pissed, truth be told - that she didn't look nervous, like she normally would. She looked fully irritated, now - an uncharacteristic frown on her normally relaxed face.

"Just do me a favor, alright?" Harlow said snappishly. "You wanted to play, here's your chance, go serve."

"Get Kimmy to," Sophie said, now standing up off the bench and sizing Lo up. "She'll serve. I'll go in as libero."

"I'm not rotating anyone," Harlow said, folding her arms across her chest. "They're all doing perfect in the positions they're in now. You wanted to play, didn't you? Then get your ass out there and serve. You don't want to, fine. I'll go."

"Why would you waste _your_ time when you have two perfectly capable servers on the bench _right_ now?" Sophie snapped.

"None of those four are playing, not this game anyways," Harlow said furiously. "That was my final decision, and I'm sticking to it."

"It was an idiotic decision," Ashlee muttered from beside me.

Harlow turned her eyes onto Ash, an unnatural flame of fury erupting behind them. "Say that again, Ash, and you're out for the rest of the tournament."

"Oh yeah? I don't see how that's such a threat, it's not like - "

"Pipe the fuck down, Ashlee," Sophie snapped, without taking her eyes off of Harlow. "And mind your own business."

"Harlow?"

Kimmy, Lindsey and Jenn had wandered over from the court, and were now standing a few feet behind Harlow. Neither Lo or Sophie seemed to notice, they were far too busy shooting daggers at one another.

"Harlow," Kimmy said again, looking between the two in confusion. "The ref's blowing his whistle, time out's almost done."

"What's it going to be, then?" Harlow said quietly, looking severely at Soph. "You want to play, or you want to stay on the bench?"

**(Ryan)**

"I don't know what's going on."

Heather was looking curiously down at the bleachers across the row from us. Harlow and Sophie were barely six inches apart - Lo's hands were crossed casually across her chest, Sophie's balled in tight fists at her side. Sophie, it seemed, was talking in a low but clearly angry voice at Harlow, who had an uncharacteristically grim look on her otherwise beautiful face.

"The ref's been motioning to them for almost a minute now," Katrina said worriedly, looking over at the tiny little man in black and white. "I wonder what's wrong."

But her question was answered barely a second later.

From out of nowhere, Sophie's fists unclenched and she gave Harlow a hard shove in the chest. Harlow faltered, taking a step back and steadying herself. In an instant, the four girls on the bleachers were up and behind Sophie, who was still furious but now yelling at Lo. The girls on the court all ran over to Harlow, standing behind her and glaring furiously at the crowd of people behind Sophie.

Harlow's face was relatively blank - she didn't look hurt, and I doubt she was. A little shove like that might've hurt a toddler, but Harlow was a full grown woman. I wasn't worried about the physical damage, though - I was more concerned with the emotional.

Apparently, so was Kimmy, the small girl to Harlow's left. She was looking with sincere shock at Harlow, who was still looking in an almost bemused way at Sophie. The gym was too loud to hear anything decent, but I did pick up on the last line from Sophie's mouth -

" - Captain, aren't you?"

Harlow seemed to ponder whatever it was that she said, but her face was still oddly vacant. Instead of screaming and yelling back, she looked thoughtfully at Sophie's ruby red face and simply shook her head.

"Get out, then."

No one on the floor moved for a moment, all seemingly in shock at the three simple words from Harlow's mouth. But a second later, Sophie took a step back, walked towards the bench, grabbed her backpack, and stormed out of the auditorium. Following in her lead, the tall black girl and shorter, slightly orange one stormed from the gym as well. The only two who remained - a tall redhead and a frail lookin' white blonde, who I recognized as Ainslee. They both exchanged terrified glances and booked it from the gym. The blondes nose held high, the redhead following vaguely behind her.

Across the court, the ref had seemed to forget about the time out - he was talking in a low whisper to the Captain of the Denver team. The only people in the room that looked more grim then Harlow and the rest of her girls, were the team from Denver.

Harlow seemed to notice the referee and captain chatting, and made a break from the group of girls surrounding her. It was hard to get a good glimpse of her face, but I had my doubts that she was smiling. The remaining six girls were standing huddled in a circle close to us, all peering over at Lo. She came to a stop near the referee, and he and the other captain began talking to her in low whispers.

"Did you see what Sophie did?" Heather said quietly, eyes round with worry. "Out of nowhere .. "

"I wonder what they were talking about," Katrina whispered, with an identical look of terror.

"That was bad," Josh said softly under his breath.

I couldn't think of anything to say - I was a bit in shock myself. Things between Harlow and Sophie had been strained for weeks now, but as far as I knew, it'd never escalated to anything physical. But between the look on Sophie's face - the disgust and fury - and the look on Harlow's - grim satisfaction mixed with severe irritation - I was surprised all that happened _was_ a little shove. I'm pretty sure it wasn't just me who thought it was about to get a lot heavier.

"She's done with the ref," Eilfie said softly.

She was right.

The referee was now muttering quietly to the two admins seated behind the tech booth. Harlow was on her way back to her side of the auditorium, face strangely blank. It wasn't an unhappy look, but it was nowhere near her usual cheerful calm.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a booming voice said, and I looked with surprise down at the little tech booth.

A tiny man, probably no taller then any of the girls down on the court, was standing behind the stand, microphone clutched in his little hand. The gym fell silent, all eyes on the small man - with the exception of Harlow, who was heading back to the bench.

"After much deliberation," he continued, voice slow and drawling. "The University of Denver team had decided to forfeit the match, with a score of - "

Whatever he said after forfeit was completely drowned out in the boisterous screams and cheers erupting from all around us. People were standing up, left and right, behind us and in front of us, jumping and cheering and hugging each other - they'd done it. Seventh consecutive game in a row, they'd demolished their opponents.

Then why, exactly, did Harlow look so upset?

**(Harlow)**

"Well, we won. Congratulations?" Kimmy sighed.

There was a dull murmuring of 'yeah right's and 'gee thanks' from the remaining few girls, but I couldn't even find it in my heart to join in. My brain was off, clunking along at a snail's pace. I was distracted, bothered. A little afraid. But not of the game or of Sophie or the other girls.

I was afraid of myself.

I couldn't move. I'd been standing in the same spot for a good three minutes now. The Penn Staters were slowly filing out of the auditorium, and the rest of the team was getting their shit together. But I couldn't join in. I wanted to run out with the rest of the crowd. I wanted to join in the conversation with the rest of the team. But I couldn't.

I was scared to even open my mouth.

"Harlow," Lindsey said, giving a sly little nod behind me. "Boytoy and Co are comin' over."

But even that was barely enough to bring me out of my stupor.

"Good game! Good game! You girls are **beasts**," I heard Heather cheer from somewhere to my right.

"Demolished them! Obliterated!" Katrina said happily.

Jenn sighed, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "Would've _killed_ them if they hadn't taken the coward's way out."

"Forfeitted," Meagan sniffed. "Disgusting."

"But that's good, isn't it?" Heather asked, puzzled. "You guys won!"

"Rule number one in all sporting events," Kimmy explained gently. "You never forfeit. It's better to lose by a million points then to tuck your tail between your legs and bail."

"It's cowardly," Jess added softly. "You play through to the very end, it's impolite to surrender."

"Oooh," Heather said quietly. "Well .. in that case, those asshats!"

It raised an appreciative laugh from the rest of the team, and the girls went on nattering and talking to Heather, Katrina and Eilfie. Josh and Sergey, I assumed, were huddled in a slightly awkward group a couple of feet away. And Ryan -

"It was a good game, Lo."

Was right beside me.

It took an unusual amount of energy to turn my head towards him, and feign a weak smile.

"Thanks bud," I said softly, wincing at the raspy edge to my voice.

Ryan seemed to catch it, but was that really such a surprise? He noticed everything, whether I wanted him to or not. He frowned, faint crease between his brows and dark light behind his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but -

"You going to come out for pizza with us, Lo?"

I turned to Lindsey and the rest of the girls, but shook my head.

"Not too hungry," I said, politely as I could. "Tired, more then anything. Feels like my arms are going to fall off, and I didn't even play - I'm just going to go home and hit the sack, I think."

"Fair enough," Kimmy said, before any of the other girls could protest - ah, my sweet Kimmy. "Exciting day, it's understandable. Go sleep our sweet Captain, we will eat double the amount of pizza in your honor."

"Fuck no we won't, how're we supposed to run her fifty million laps with pizza guts?" Jenn said indignantly.

Emma rolled her eyes, turning to the the rest of Ryan's team. "You guys down for some pizza?"

"I've never turned down pizza before," Heather said matter-of-factly. "And I don't ever plan on doing so."

"I like how you roll," Meagan said appreciatively, turning to Kat and Elf. "Katrina and Eilfie, right? You ladies down for some 'za?"

"My God, Meg, don't ever say 'za' again," Kimmy said, slapping a hand on her forehead. "Do you _know_ how horrifically lame that is? I'm going to make fun of you for the rest of your life for that one."

"Ignore her," Lindsey said chipperly, giving Kimmy a joyous little assbump onto the court. "You're both down, right?"

Eilfie smiled and nodded, Katrina gave two thumbs up.

"We apologize in advance for Heather's monstrous appetite," Kat said apologetically.

"We only hang out with her to look better by comparison," Elf agreed.

"Sergey, right? And Josh?" Kimmy said, giving a small wave to the awkward lookin' pair. "You men down for a dirty, saucy, doughy date with nine hot chicks?"

Josh laughed, but I'm pretty sure it was more at the fact that Serge now closely resembled some sort of over-ripened tomato.

"Course we are," Josh said, thumping Sergey on the back merrily. "Can't think of anything we'd like more."

"Ah Bog ah _Bog_," I heard Sergey mumble.

Lindsey turned to where Ryan and I stood, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously at the two of us. "How about you, Mr. Buell? You down for some eight thousand calorie slices of pizza?"

Ryan grinned, and although no one else seemed to be able to tell, I could see right through it - his eyes were bright but set deep with worry.

"I think I'll have to pass tonight, ladies," he said, that silky voice so perfect I swear I saw Jess and Meg swoon. "I'm going to drive Harlow home and get some sleep myself."

"Perfect Southern gentlemen," Kimmy said, batting her eyelashes jokingly. "Well that's alright, we've abducted the rest of your team and we're never giving them back. You can _have_ Harley."

I forced a grin, one not nearly as passable as Ryan's, but it seemed to work nearly as well. "Jerk. Have fun tonight."

"You guys as well," Lindsey said, with a little wink. "Sleeping. Have fun sleeping."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Kimmy said cheerfully.

And with a few final waves, the rest of mine and Ryan's teams disappeared out the auditorium doors.

The gym was empty now, except for a few Denver team members still trickling in and out of the locker room doors. On our side of the court, there was no one left but myself and Ryan in the oddly silent, suddenly chilly room. I could feel his gaze on me, feel the intensity of his stare, but I refused to look. I was still struggling to get a hold of myself.

"What's up, Harlow?" he asked softly.

I shook my head. "Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar," he sighed, placing one of his large, warm hands on my waist and steering me towards the bleachers. "What's wrong? Was it Sophie?"

As we grabbed a seat on the bleachers, I took a shaky breath and leaned back against the rock solid benches behind me. I nodded.

"What happened? I saw you guys arguing on the court ... and, well. I saw her shove you."

I nodded again. "Meagan hurt her shoulder. I needed to rotate someone on for her, and I asked Sophie to."

"She didn't want to?"

I shrugged. "I guess not. She told me to switch Kimmy to serving and her to Kimmy's spot. I said no."

"You're the Captain," he said simply. "You make the decisions, not Sophie."

I sighed. "I suppose. But she refused to serve, and I refused to move Kimmy or let one of the other girls on the court."

Ryan nodded, but looked thoughtfully out on the court. "It seems silly that she'd push you over something so minor."

I pulled my knees up to my chest, rested my chin on my bony knee cap.

"I ended up giving her an ultimatum. Serve and stay or leave and get kicked off the team."

Ryan blinked. "And she chose?"

"To leave," I said simply. "But not before telling me how I was the biggest piece of shit she'd ever met, and how I could rot for all she cared. And she said she thought I was her best friend, and best friend's don't treat people like this."

I blinked, but the rush of tears I thought were coming didn't seem to be at the spilling point.

"So I said 'like what? They don't isolate the other person, they don't make them choose, they don't turn their back on them?' And then, she - well, you saw."

Ryan nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I said tersely. "It's .. it was bound to happen."

"I can't imagine how angry you are," Ryan said calmly, resting a hand on my back. "I'm .. I'd be furious."

"I wanted to kill her."

He nodded, gave my back a rub. "I don't blame you, Harlow."

"No - Ryan. Ryan. I wanted to kill her."

He looked at me, but I could tell he didn't get it. He didn't fucking understand it. I wanted to _kill_ her. Not right now, not anymore, but ... before.

This was what was terrifying me.

She'd shoved me. Things had never escalated to violence between us, never. Mainly because Sophie had always loved me too much to physically hurt me, and because I wasn't a violent person. I grew up in a household built on fear, threats and anger. I knew by the time I was two I didn't believe in violence. I swore when I was little, after seeing my own mother beat the daylights out of my only sister, that I would never intentionally hurt someone. I would never bring harm to anyone if I could help it. I would never stoop to her level. But today, barely fifteen minutes ago - I almost had. I'd almost broken my oath.

She'd pushed me, and something had gone off in my head. It was the same something that'd taken over the entire game. The same fury that had taken control of my body, my voice, my brain. And for a second, for one tiny moment, it had almost won.

The part of me that I knew, the part that up until two hours ago, _was_ me - it begged me to stop, to stay away from her. Leave her alone, it said. She'll regret it, don't hurt her. But the other part, the part that had been in control - it was reeling with fury. It wanted to take her. It wanted to hurt her.

**I** wanted to hurt her. _**Me**_. I can't blame _it_ - it is me.

Ryan pulled me close, rested his chin on the top of my head.

"That's natural Lo," he said soothingly. "That's natural. She was your best friend and she completely turned on you. That's ... I would've wanted to kill her, too."

He didn't understand.

He didn't.

I didn't want to kill her as in shove her back. I didn't want to punch her or kick her or yell at her.

I wanted her dead.

I wanted to grab her throat with my bare hands and squeeze.

I wanted to feel the life ebb away beneath my palms.

I wanted to feel that last breath, know that it had been _my_ fingers that had stopped it.

I wanted her to suffer, the way _**I**_ had suffered.

I wanted to kill her.

Not anymore, not now. But before. I hadn't been myself. I had been somewhere else, some_thing_ else.

Something - some**where** -

dark.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

AND, IT, BEEE, GINS.

And starting next chapter, the story will get darker and darker until progressively, it's a ball if angsty terrifying shit. Just prepare your beautiful selves, alright? Now! I must say my thank-yous and keep tap tappin' away at the next chapter!

**chicajenny: **thank you my lovely! wait until you see what dark hole i'm digging this story into ... but no spoilers! thank you for the review, much appreciated!

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction:** murder me? oh noooo but i beg of you, it will still be sorta kinda happy? like, not for a while. but it will get happy at least one more time! ... maybe. BUT HARD LOLOLOL at you and your prison girlfriend Big Burtha, she sounds like a real catch and when the two of you get married, i'll write your vows and it will be so beautiful! as always, you've made me smile, giggle and flail with excitement. take care and thank you thank you thank you! ps, you should probably change your pen name to xoxoMyRealityIsBigBurtha. just so I can die of laughter.

**nouseforaname89:** you know what else is wonderful as always? YOU. although that should come as no surprise, because you're wicked and lovely and i adore you more than you shall ever know! thank you for the review :)

**WinchesterAngel3389: **oooh you smarty pants, you're on to something ... sort of. keep an eye on the dreams everyone's having, it shall allll make sense soon enough! you're also right about your little green eyed fear monster - it's got some very important significance! you're picking up on more hints then i even realized i put into the story, so stop being so smart because you're scaring me. but even though your intensely humungous brain scares me, you do not, and i love you like froggies like flies! YOU are the amazing one, don't everever change!

**kcollins:** trust me my fine feathered friend, you will like THIS and ME a lot lot lot less in the coming chapters ... but one thing will never ever change. my undying love for you. let's be one another's forever and always until 2012 when the world ends. but even after that.

**PSUPRS:** THAT WAS A MONSTROUS REVIEW. and every single line made me pee in pure joy. i'm legit sitting in a lake of psuprs induced happy pee, thanks a lot asshat. JUST KIDDING I LOVE YOU. i would never ever ever want to kill you with suspense or adorableness! if you die from either of the two, i will surely die from a broken heart, because my lovely irreplaceable Sora will no longer be by my side, making me smile and making my heart melt into a pile of mushy love! as always, your review was more exciting then any of my chapters could ever have been, and i thank you and send you the biggest sloppiest kiss in the entire world! xo

**ferret assassin nin:** FERRET MY LOVE, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? i was about to call the milk carton company and put your pen name in large letters across the side, I THOUGHT YOU'D BEEN ABDUCTED. but you're back, and my heart has exploded with happiness. don't ever leave me again, i can't bear life without my assassin nin. (L)

seven reviews, all of which made me explode with love and respect and all things sexy! you are honestly the best i could have ever asked for in my entire life. i hope you know that.

so! prepare yourselves, my loves. think of my little fic as a rollercoaser. we've been traveling up and up and up the track, and we are now at the absolute peak of happiness. from here on out, it is only downhill. fast, terrifying and unstoppable in it's darkness. but the good thing about rollercoasters - and you must all remember as you read on - is that they're really just a big circle anyways. one day - not soon, but perhaps once again - we will come back to the top of the ride.

and as long as you're all on board, we'll plow through this fic together. :) yours forever and ever;

**love,** ellah!


	25. Juan The Mexican Wine Master And Boggle

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Juan The Mexican Wine Master and Boggle

**(Michelle)**

"It _might_ be a premonition, Chip - you never know."

I nestled back into the poofy armchair set in the corner of my living room, phone in one hand and mug of tea in the other. God, was there anything in the world like a faithful ol' dirty, smelly, cushy chair? Nope. My troubles simply melted away the second I parked my bum on the cushion. Although _today_, the troubles weren't vanishing as easily ... I heard Chip sigh loudly from the other end of the line and I knew at once the conversation wasn't exactly gonna be a happy one.

Chip and I had never spoken much, besides the odd couple of times we'd met at Paranormal State events. So I'm sure you all can imagine my shock when I answered the long distance call today (expecting telemarketers ... those _devils_), and heard Chip's Southern drawl on the other end.

He'd called for advice. Well. More like a second opinion. I knew for a fact how heavy this little 'gift' of ours could get sometimes - to have someone available for a second opinion or for some support or just to listen to you vent; it was wonderful. I didn't know Chip well, but I knew how highly Ryan and the rest of the gang spoke of him.

"I've never had a premonition before," Chip reasoned, more to himself then to me. "But last night, that was the _second_ time in less then a month I've had the same dream."

"The _exact _same dream?" I asked.

"Yeah," Chip said, although he didn't sound convinced. "I mean, I assume so. I don't remember much of the details of the first one, but this second one, I remember it _exactly_."

"Well what do you remember? The exact sequence of events."

There was a deep sigh from his end, and I took a quick sip of the lemon tea from my mug.

"There's a boy. He looks familiar, super duper familiar. I know I've seen him before but I don't know who he is or where I know him from."

"What does he look like?"

"Handsome," Chip replied thoughtfully. "Can't have been older then ten. Olive skin, wavy dark brown hair. Beautiful little boy, phenomenally attractive."

"Does he say anything?" I asked.

"He keeps saying 'it's coming'," Chip said. "And 'tell her'. He never specifies who I'm supposed to tell, or what exactly is coming. But he repeats those two things over and over again. 'Tell her' and 'it's coming'."

"Is that the whole dream?" I asked, slightly puzzled.

"No," Chip said, but his voice was sudden chilled and fearful. "No ... he warns me, repeats those things over and over again, and then .. then, he just - he just falls to pieces."

"He cries?" I asked with a frown.

"No," Chip responded, and his voice sounded strangely haunted. "No, not at all. He swells up, expands. His skin goes all white and turns purple and blue. And then he just ... disintegrates."

"Disintegrates?"

"Yeah."

"Wha ... what?"

"It's like he's rotting at warp speed, _right_ in front of me."

"Rotting?"

"His skin starts peeling away, and falling off and his hair falls out. He's stripped right down to the muscles and they fall apart and rot and all that's left is his bones and his eyes."

I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of it, but I made sure my voice was even and relatively calm.

"That's strange ... he disintegrates, or _rots_, but his eyes are still there?"

"Yes," Chip said, rather breathlessly. "His eyes. They're these bright green, like a harlequin color. Like two emeralds just staring out of these sockets."

We both fell into silence, my brain whirring and clicking and stomach heaving. When Chip called and initially told me he'd been having this strange, reoccurring dream, I thought it would've been, well ... at least a _little_ normal. At least relatively common, explainable. But **this**? This was _bizarre_. Who dreams of rotting children? Who falls asleep and is overcome with the image of disintegrating flesh and black sockets deep set in skulls? Even for a psychic, this was rather odd.

"So," I said slowly, tapping a finger on the side of my mug. "Why do you think this is a premonition type thing?"

"I don't know if it is or not," he said defensively. "It's just ... everytime I have the dream, the little boy warns me. And each time, it's more and more frantic."

"That makes sense," I agreed. "Well ... how do you think you know this boy?"

"I don't," he said simply. "I know I don't know him. I've never met him before in my life. But I've .. I've seen him before. In a photograph, maybe? I don't know ... but I recognize him, certain facial features. He looks so familiar."

"The eyes," I said slowly. "Green, you said, weren't they?"

"Yes," Chip said. "Green as the grass. Bright as the Sun."

"Are _they_ familiar?" I asked, trying to push him towards what may very well have been the answer he was looking for.

"Of course," Chip said, clearly puzzled. "He's completely familiar."

"But the eyes," I said, dragging him back, slightly frustrated. "The eyes. Harlequin green, eyes that sparkle like diamonds. Harlow's eyes are green, aren't they?"

There was dead silence on the other end of the line. I took my chance.

"You said Harlow had a brother, didn't you?" I pressed. "Alive, or - "

"He's still alive," Chip said, his voice barely a whisper. "I assume so, anyways ... but it couldn't have been .. no. No, her brother, Kingston - he's still alive. And I've seen him before, met him face to face. It wasn't him. Kingston's hair is black, his face is sharper, nose a little longer. And he's older then Harlow - by a couple of years, I'm sure of it."

I frowned, but wasn't completely put out. "You're sure this Kingston is still alive?"

"I'm sure of it," he said, rather hesitantly. "Harlow would've told me ... "

"But the eyes, Chip, they - "

"They're the same color as Harlow's. But .. a lot of people have green eyes."

"That _exact_ shade of green?"

He didn't speak, but neither did I - there were no words that could be found by either of us.

If Chip was having these dreams - or rather, these nightmares - over and over again of someone warning him about some impending doom, what did they mean? Who were they about? But most importantly, why did I feel like Harlow had something to do with them?

"Does Harlow only have the one brother?" I asked.

"Yes. One. Kingston, and I know he's still alive."

"You're sure it was only him?"

"Yes."

"He's the only brother?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

Silence. Then ...

" ... Yes."

**(Kimmy)**

"You look _exactly_ like her."

Harlow peered over from her perch on bed, and smiled grimly. "I don't really see it."

Clearly, she was lying.

The similarities were staggering. The skin was the same smooth copper, the nose long but rounded. The same round, perfectly symmetrical eyes. The long lashes, the flawlessly arched brows. The long hair, russet in color and set in loose waves over her shoulders. The strong jawline, the high cheekbones. And the eyes - when people said they'd never seen anyone like Harlow before, they were more often then not talking about her beauty. But the rest of the time, they meant those eyes. The brilliant green, the color of Spring leaves. The woman in the photo, her eyes were the exact shade of Harlow's.

Or rather, Harlow's were exactly the shade of her mother's.

I was cross legged on Lo's bedroom floor, looking through a small, dirty photo album I'd found on the bottom of one of Harlow's bookshelves. I'd stopped by her apartment about an hour ago, bearing gifts of candy and cake and so many jugs of iced tea it very well could've filled an entire lake. Her favorite things, y'know? I figured after the fist fight that had almost occurred at the game, the one thing she really needed - more then a friend or Valium or _anything_ - was candy, sugar and tasty juice.

I'm fuckin' **great**, aren't I?

So after gorging out on our own body weight in food, we'd ended up in her room, seated in the bright sunlight shining through her windows. She was looking frantically for her exam revision folders from last year, and I was attempting to not puke out three liters worth of tea beverage. I'm so attractive, aren't I? As she continued leafing through her piles and piles of folders, I'd stumbled upon this old, nasty photo album tucked waaaaay in the back of her shelf. She'd allowed me to look through, although there was a slightly pained expression on her face as I flipped through each page, ogling over every yellowing photograph.

The second photo on the page, the one I was staring awestruck at now, was one of her mother, Nia Mercer. I'd never before seen a photo of her, and had only heard Harlow speak of her once before in the years I'd known her. But despite all the negative things I'd heard, from Sophie and even Lo herself, I couldn't help but stare at the photo in my hands.

It was shocking.

The only difference was the soul behind the eyes of both Harlow and Nia. When you looked at Harlow, there was peace. Calm. An overwhelming warmth that lit up her young and untroubled face. Looking at Nia's was like looking at an unpolished diamond. The cheeks were high, like Harlow's, but gaunt and chiseled out. The eyes were overbright and brilliant, but they were cold and emotionless. The smile fixed on her face was forced, unhappy. It was the only part about the woman that didn't resemble Harlow in the slightest - her mouth. The lips were thinner, lines etched on either side from years of frowning and disdain.

"Nuts," I mumbled, flipping to the next page.

And as if my mind hadn't already exploded, it was now fuckin' obliterated.

"Who _is_ this?" I asked, turning the page to her.

She peered up from her mountain of papers, and grimaced slightly. "My Dad."

It was a male Harlow. Legit, if Harlow grew a penis and had a five o'clock shadow, this would be her.

The man was handsome - sickeningly so. A squared jaw, round eyes. High forehead and chestnut brown hair slicked back against his handsome head. The eyes were brown, unlike Harlow's, but there was light in his that had been so obviously missing from Nia's the page before. He looked happy. Calm. He looked as relaxed as Harlow did. And his mouth - lips full as pillows, teeth unnaturally even and white, bared in a perfect grin. Deep dimples set into his cheeks. If you covered the rest of his head and only looked at the mouth and dimples, you'd have sworn it was Harlow.

I flipped between the two photos, to Nia, then to her Dad. Nia, Dad. Nia. Dad. She was identical to both.

I felt a strange sadness fill my chest - I'd known Harlow for four years now, and in the sixty minutes I'd been at her apartment, I'd realized how little I really knew about her. I knew she grew up in Foster Care. I knew her only surviving family member was her older brother who lived in a mental institution in New Jersey. I knew her only sister died when Lo was six. I knew her mother spent the remainder of her life and the majority of Harlow's in jail. But beyond that? I knew nothing.

"What was your Dad's name?" I asked.

She continued sorting out her essays and textbooks, but her eyes were oddly clouded.

"Keith Vincent," she said softly.

"You took his last name," I noted.

"When I turned 18," she replied. "My mother's name brought trouble with me wherever I went. I took my Dad's instead."

"Do you ever miss him?" I asked quietly.

She shook her head, continuing her mad sorting of papers. "Barely knew him. Died when I was three."

"I'm sorry," I said, and I truly was.

She shook her head again, humorless smile on her flawless face. "Don't be. He killed himself, left my siblings and I to be raised by _that_ monster."

She motioned with her chin to the photo of Nia, and snorted in disgust. I turned the photograph of her mother over onto the floor, and flipped back to the picture of her Dad, Keith.

Killed himself? No, he couldn't have ... but I suppose it was hard to predict who fell victim to suicide, wasn't it? You just never knew. But looking at his face - that handsome, happy face. I found it impossible to believe. How can a man so beautiful, so happy, so full of life - just die? It was unbelievable. But I didn't want to question it anymore, I didn't want to put Harlow in a bad mood.

"Your Mom passed away too, didn't she?" I asked, looking cautiously up at Lo.

Harlow nodded, but I didn't sense that she felt uncomfortable. On the contrary, I felt like she wasn't even paying attention.

"When?" I asked.

"2002," she replied. "I was 18."

"Did you at least get to see her again?"

Harlow snorted, a look of disdain passing over her face. "See her? Why would I have wanted to. Hell would've frozen over before I ever went to visit her willingly."

_Visit?_

"She died in jail, didn't she?" I asked, as casually as I could.

"Something like that," Harlow replied, looking in frustration around at the stacks of books. "She died incarcerated, but not in jail - she died in a tiny little room, hooked up to an IV that was dripping poison into her bloodstream."

I'd never heard her talk so bluntly, but I barely took any notice. An IV that dripped poison into her bloodstream? That could only mean -

"She's on death row?" I asked, unable to mask the shock in my voice.

"Was," Harlow corrected. "As of March a little more then six years ago, she's been checked off that list. Where the _Hell_ is that essay?"

She returned absent-mindedly to her mad sorting, but I was looking down at the photo album in my hands. Death row? Her mother, Harlow's - she'd been sentenced to death? For what? People who'd murdered multiple times hadn't even been sentenced to death. What had made her case different? That was something I wouldn't ask .. oh no, definitely not.

Taking one last glance at the rich and handsome face of Keith Vincent, I flipped to the next page, felt the breath once again catch in my throat - _Jesus_. Next time I came to Harlow's to look through her photo albums, I should probably bring a friggin' puffer or something. I think I'd simultaneously shit my pants eight times in three minutes.

The photograph on the page was of two young children. A girl, who looked about five, and a boy who looked four. Maybe three, it was hard to tell.

The boy was handsome, even at the tender age of three, or maybe four - he was one of the best looking males I'd ever laid eyes on. Olive skin, dark as cinnamon but smooth and even. Eyes set deep in his skull, but round and bright. A longer nose, distinguished and slightly aristocratic. Slightly waved chestnut brown hair, mussed and windswept in a startlingly perfect way. He was shoeless and in baggy beige cargo pants. The silky green shirt he wore were the exact shade of his eyes - yet again, the hauntingly familiar shade of Harlow's.

The girl was beautiful, one of the prettiest I'd ever seen. She looked like Harlow, but with deliberate mistakes. The eye color, the twinkling harlequin, that was the same. But the face was rounder, softer then Harlow's sharp jawline. The cheeks were still thin, slightly gaunt, but with the rosy glow only a child could have - they weren't chiseled and high, dangerously jagged. Her eyes were almond shaped, not big, round globes. The skin paler, the hair lighter. But it fell over her shoulders in loose rings just like Lo's. But everything else - identical to Harlow. They could've been twins.

The two of them stood next to one another, the girl with an arm around the boy. Neither were smiling - the boy in particular looked out to lunch - but you could tell just by the photograph that had they both been grinning, their smiles would've been identical to Lo's - and just as heartbreakingly beautiful. These must've been her siblings.

"They look like you," I said, holding up the album so she could see the photographs.

She glanced up, smiled slightly, but continued on rooting through her piles of paper. "I look like them would be more accurate. That's my older brother and sister."

"Kingston's the boy, right?" I clarified, looking at the beautiful young face.

Harlow nodded. "And the girl was my older sister, Brody."

"How old were they here? Four, five?"

Harlow peered up again, but she didn't smile this time. There was a faint line in her brow, and she looked thoughtfully at the photo.

"No," she said. "Brody's eight, there. Which means Kingston would've been seven."

"Seven and eight?" I gasped, looking back down at the photograph.

Surely not, she had to have been mistaken. They were too tiny, much too small to be seven and eight, respectively. Seven year olds are taller, thicker. Eight year old girls are bigger, more rounded. These were just babies. They were thin and tiny and short ...

"They look tiny, though ... you're sure?"

Harlow nodded without looking back up. "We were poor growing up. Never had a lot of food. Undernourished, that's why they're so tiny. I was barely five feet tall until I was 18, then I just shot up."

I looked back down at the photos, ran a finger across the picture. It broke my heart to see them like that ... and Brody, she was eight. Hadn't she died soon after?

"She died when she was nine," Harlow said casually, as if she'd just read my mind.

"So young," I said softly. "How's Kingston?"

She shrugged. "He's alive. Taller then I am, now. Six foot one or something, he's a giant."

I laughed. "Seen him lately?"

"Last year," she replied, placing her hands in her lap - she seemed to have abandoned her search for the revision tables. "I try and make it out there once or twice a year, but New Jersey's a bit out of my way."

I nodded. "Understandable. Not exactly cheap to fly out there, either."

Harlow shook her head. "I try, though."

"Does he still look like you?" I asked, a million questions running through my head - I was having difficulty weeding out the appropriate ones.

She smiled slightly. "I don't know. I don't see it, but the nurses - he lives in a special mental institution - whenever I'm there they point it out."

I grinned. "You both look identical, and this picture was what ... twenty years ago?"

She nodded. "He's much paler now ... doesn't really get out in the sun very often. And his hair's a lot shorter, maybe a little darker then in that photo. And he's much thinner, we're about the same size, actually."

I tried to keep the shock off my face, but Harlow seemed to notice.

"It's alright," she assured me. "It's his medication. If it weren't for the doctor's and nurses, he'd never eat at all. The part of his brain that tells him when to eat, the Hypothalamus - doesn't really function properly. But they make sure he gets enough nutrients and vitamins and everything. He's always been stick thin."

"Oh, well that makes sense, I suppose. Are you going to visit him soon?"

She nodded, curling her legs up in front of her. "Couple of weeks, once exams are over, I think. I'm all he's really got left."

"It must be nice for him, when you go and visit."

She shrugged. "He doesn't remember me anymore."

I saw a wave of pain flash over her face, such a severe look of misery and guilt that the quick glance was enough to crush my heart into tiny little pieces. Kingston, the only family she had left in the world - and he couldn't even recognize her. When he looked into her eyes, didn't he see his own? Didn't he realize it was his sister? It must've been like looking in a mirror ... or had he deteriorated that much? I had two siblings. They both drove me nuts. But to imagine a day when I'd pass them on the street and not even recognize them - I'd rather be dead.

Harlow smiled, but there was still a dark cloud behind her pupils. "Nevermind it, though, Kimmy. I don't really like talking about him - it - er, _them_ - very much."

I nodded. "I'm sorry to pry, Harley."

She shook her head. "You didn't, don't worry. It's always nice to vent sometimes, you know?"

I smiled. "You'll always have me to vent to, babe."

**(Katrina)**

"Where are you off to in such a rush?"

Ryan looked over at the three of us - myself, Sergey and Heather - and smiled rather guiltily, moving the wine bottle slyly to his other arm.

"Oh, I'm just going to hang out with Harlow," he said nonchalantly - I had to admit, he was getting better at this whole 'casual' thing.

"Oooh, what're you guys _doooooin'_?" Heather asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Y'know, I mean _besides_ downing an entire bottle of wine and getting tangled up on her couch."

He didn't even blush - Katrina equals **majorly** impressed.

"I'm not sure," he said with little concern, slipping his shoes on. "Maybe watch a movie, or something? Study? Play a boardgame?"

Heather rolled her eyes. "Because both of you would rather play Boggle then bang. Yeah, alright."

"They won't have sex, they'll just play Boggle," Sergey said with a grin. "Your Priest would be _so_ proud, Ry."

"I'm a good little Catholic," Ryan agreed, stuffing his wallet into the back of his pants. "I'm out, don't wait up."

"You remember we have to catch a flight tomorrow at four," I reminded him.

"Four in the afternoon," Ryan said, with a nod. "Yes, Mom, I remember. That's like twenty two hours away, I'm good."

"Drive safe," Serge said.

"Buckle up," I agreed.

"Wrap up's, more like it," Heather said cheerfully.

"Shut up, Tad."

And with a _snap_, he was gone.

Serge leaned back against the couch, throwing his arms behind his head and propping his feet up on the coffee table. "You think he's getting any tonight?"

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that Boggle isn't on the itinerary for this evening," I said blandly.

"You think they ever talk about Harlow being a medium?" Heather said thoughtfully.

"How did we go from them banging and-slash-or playing Boggle to them chattin' about Harlow's ability?" Sergey asked, puzzled.

"You don't hang out with Heather enough," I sighed. "This always happens. Why _would_ they talk about that, Tad?"

"Oh I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Wouldn't you want to talk about it?"

"If I were Harlow? No."

"No, if you were Ryan."

"If I was Ryan and I was drinking wine with someone who looked like Harlow, I don't think I would be able to give even the _slightest_ fuck about what childhood terrors led her to see ghosts," Serge said.

Fair point.

"I'd wanna know," Heather sighed. "I keep wanting to ask her about it, but I never know if it's appropriate or not .. "

"**You're** worried about something being **appropriate**?" I gasped, and Serge slapped a hand over his mouth.

Tad rolled her eyes and curled into a little ball on the cushy gray armchair set in Ryan and Sergey's living room. She looked thoughtfully out the window into the darkening sky, an uncharacteristic look of puzzlement on her normally cheerful face.

"I just wonder, you know?" she said. "Like, has she had it her whole life? Can she remember a time when she didn't? Will she be psychic forever?"

I frowned. "Heather, I don't think you can _lose_ a psychic ability."

Tad nodded. "Yeah you can - Chip _said_ so."

"When did Chip say that?" Serge asked.

"Couple of weeks ago. You weren't there," she said. "We were talking about Harlow, and I asked the exact same question - do you think she'll be psychic forever? And Chip said - and I **quote** - 'I don't know, Heather. I wouldn't be surprised either way.'"

Now _this_ was news to me.

"What did he mean?" I asked, resting my chin in my palm.

Heather shrugged. "He wouldn't really elaborate. All he said was that it wasn't uncommon for people to 'lose'psychic or mediumship abilities. In fact, young children who report having a sixth sense often grow out of it before adulthood. In children, a supposed 'medium ability' is ninety percent more common or prevalent in children with particularly turbulent childhoods."

Serge and I stared blankly at Tad - his mouth was slightly agape, and I was pretty sure mine was too.

"Heather," Sergey said slowly. "How ... how can you remember something like _that_, but nine times out of ten you can't remember if a potato is a vegetable or a fruit."

"It's a protein, duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "Hey, what's the difference between Boggle and Scrabble?"

Serge looked at me. "We're back to boardgames? What?"

I shrugged, relaxed back into the sofa in exhaustion.

"Like I said - you don't hang out with her _nearly_ enough."

**(Ryan)**

"You're _quite_ the wine connoisseur, Ryan."

Harlow grinned at me from over the kitchen counter, and I smiled back. She'd just uncorked the wine bottle I'd brought and was pouring it carefully into two tall glasses. I couldn't keep the grin off my face - she looked, as always, like _perfection._

_"_I can't lie, I usually just show up at the liquor mart and make _them_ choose something for me," I admitted. "If I was left alone to choose wine, I undoubtedly would pick the most disgusting one."

She grinned, handing me my glass over the countertop. "There's no such thing as disgusting wine."

"Oh I beg to differ."

She laughed, took a little sip from her chute. "My mom was an alcoholic, I grew up with the knowledge that there's no such thing as 'bad' alcohol."

I smiled, but didn't laugh - I guess laughing at my girlfriend's alcoholic mother wasn't the best thing for our relationship, was it? Regardless of whether or not she started it.

"Lucky, your Liquor mart friends chose a pretty good one," she said with a smile. "This one's lovely."

I took a sip, and **had** to agree. I'd - or rather, Juan the Mexican Wine Master - had picked another homerun. Perrrrrrrfection.

"Is wine your drink of choice?" I asked.

She shook her head, flicking a few pieces of hair off her face. "Champagne, actually. I'm not especially fond of the taste of alcohol, but champagne is fun and bubbly and wine is fruity enough to mask the taste."

I nodded. "Fair enough. I've always been a fan of whiskey, actually."

She scrunched her nose, in potentially the most adorable way I'd ever seen, and shook her head. "I can't _stand_ whiskey."

"Ahh, it's not that bad," I laughed. "Strong, but it's got that nice musky aftertaste."

She smiled, looking cheerfully down at her glass. "My Dad used to drink whiskey ... Bagpiper's. It smells more like rum, but it's considered a Whiskey. Whenever I smell it, it brings back memories."

My heart warmed a little, and I was pretty sure it wasn't from the wine - so little had I ever seen Harlow smile when she recounted a memory from her childhood. But the thought of her Dad - the memory of him smelling like the rum-tinged whiskey - brought a smile to her face. And to mine, too.

"You remember your Dad very well?" I asked.

She grinned, taking a seat on the barstool beside her - I slid onto the one to my right, so we sat face to face across the marble counter.

"More then I think I should," she said thoughtfully. "He died when I was three - hung himself, actually. I don't know why, or ... or what led to it, really. But I remember it was in our old house in Maine. In the basement, from the rafters. I don't have a lot of memories about him, I don't remember ever seeing him with my Mom or any of my other siblings. Which makes sense, I suppose, since I was his only biological child. But I remember his smell."

She smiled, caressing her glass in her small hands. "Like I said, whiskey. Bagpipers. But it was always musky, like cigar smoke. He didn't smoke cigarettes but he always smoked cigars. I remember I'd wake up late at night and look outside, and he'd be sitting on this rickety old porch swing, smoking a cigar. Sometimes I'd sneak out and sit next to him. He always smelt like rich whiskey and smoke - he liked to drink, was always at the bars. And he'd tell me stories all the time."

She curled a leg beneath her, taking another sip from her glass. "Those were the happiest moments I can remember. Just being alone with my Dad, sitting outside under the stars. Sometimes he'd walk me back into the house, tuck me in. Usually he'd just tell me it was time for bed and send me off."

"Didn't he live with you?" I asked curiously.

She shook her head. "Maybe when I was a baby, but he and my Mum had split up by the time I was a year old. She stayed in Maine a long time though, that's where my Dad lived. I think for a while there .. I think she tried to get her life together. It never happened, but I'm glad for her attempt at it. It just meant I got to be with my Dad for a little longer."

I found it strange, although I would never tell her, that she had so many memories of her Dad, but none that had anything to do with her Mum or siblings. If her Dad was such a nice guy, if he cared so much about her, why didn't he take her out of the home? Take her with him? I tried to push the troubling thoughts from my mind.

"There aren't any pictures of him around," I casually noted, looking around the kitchen. "Don't you have any?"

"Only two," she said simply. "One of him when he was young, it's in a family photo album in my bedroom. And there's one of him and I, when I was just a couple of months old. It's tucked away somewhere."

"You said he used to tell you stories."

She nodded. "Every time I went and sat with him on the swing."

"What stories did he tell you?" I asked.

She smiled, folding her hands on top of one another. "Almost always the same one. It was about a princess, a beautiful little princess who lived in a castle on top of a hill. The princess was very sad and very lonely, all the time. She just wanted friends, and to be able to leave the castle and play in the sunshine and pick flowers. But the owner of the castle was very mean and very evil, and never let the little princess go out and play. So to keep herself busy, she'd make friends with the butterflies that would fly past her window. She'd tell them her secrets and care for them, give them little bowls of sugar water so they could drink and be happy. And then one night, all of her butterfly friends came to her window at once and told her they wanted to take her to their kingdom, where she could play all day and have all the friends and flowers and happiness she could ever want. So she grabbed on to their little legs and they carried her away from the evil castle and to their butterfly kingdom, where she lived forever and ever."

She laughed. "He always told it better. But that was the jyst of it, as far as I can remember."

I smiled. "Were you the beautiful little princess?"

She shrugged her small shoulders, smiling slightly in her deep thought. "I suppose so. But I never had butterfly friends that came and carried me away."

"Your Dad sounded like a nice guy," I said softly.

She sighed, but the cheerful light that had brightened those brilliant eyes had faded. "I suppose."

She had the far-away look in those pupils again, the one I'd only seen a couple of times since I'd met her. Usually, it was just a flicker of doubt, of cloudiness. But the flicker had turned into a permanent fixture in those globes of green - she looked troubled, unfocused. Her eyes were glued on a spot in the living room.

I glanced over to where she was looking, but saw nothing. "Lo? Are you alright?"

She jumped a little at the sound of her voice, nodded, and threw back a gulp of wine. "Sorry, zoned out."

I frowned a little, rested my hands on the counter. "You see something?"

She blinked. "See something?"

I nodded. "Whenever you've done a walk-through or notice a spirit or something, you get this look on your face. Like you're here, physically, but your mind is a million miles away."

She smiled slightly, casting those bright eyes down at her lap. "I didn't know I did that ... "

"It's cute," I assured her. "Really. It's just ... I don't know. I thought maybe you saw something."

She looked at me curiously, a rather puzzled expression now splashed across her face. Her eyes flickered to a point behind my head, then back to my face. She looked slightly uneasy, a little worried. She looked like she was trying to communicate non-verbally with someone standing directly behind me - it gave me goosebumps.

"The thing is," she said slowly, eyes still oddly fixed to a point behind me. "Well .. there's a spirit that lives in my apartment. Ever since I moved in, she's just ... been here, always."

I feigned nonchalance. "Oh yeah? That's pretty cool ... you talk to her?"

Harlow nodded. "Often."

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Chick," Lo responded.

"Chick?"

"Mmhmm."

"That's her real name?"

Harlow bit her bottom lip, and shrugged. "I .. I don't actually know. I just call her Chick."

"So you're ... communicating with her right now?" I asked, slightly anxiously.

Harlow smiled, although it was a grim one. "Not really. She just left the room, she's quite angry with me."

"Why?"

"I told you about her. She doesn't really ... well she's not the biggest fan of people like you."

"People like me?"

"Paranormal investigators."

"Ahh, I see."

A silence fell upon the two of us. I was looking at Harlow, slightly distressed but more intrigued then anything. She was gazing over her shoulder out into her living room, brow furrowed slightly, mouth downturned. There were a million questions running through my mind, I had a thousand things I wanted to ask. But I didn't know if it was appropriate or not ... regardless of if they were dead or alive, I didn't want anyone close to Harlow to dislike me.

"She's been acting very strange lately," Harlow said softly, resting her chin in her palm. "More so then usual."

"What's she been doing?" I asked.

"Avoiding me, mostly," Lo said with a sigh. "She won't come anywhere near me. Keeps saying she's feeling this dark presence around me."

I felt my heart skip a beat, and tried to force my face into polite disinterest. "Dark presence?"

Harlow shrugged. "I don't know. She said she keeps sensing that something bad is going to happen to me or something."

She looked over at me, and her face whitened slightly - probably because I looked shit-in-my-pants terrified.

"Are you alright?" she asked, eyes round with worry.

I nodded, trying to contort my face back into some semblance of passivity. "Fine, sorry .. something _bad_ is going to happen?"

Harlow closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "No no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you - it's nothing, really. I think she's just a bit depressed, to be honest, maybe her own feeling of darkness is transferring over to me or something."

She lay a hand over my own and gave it a light squeeze. "I'm sorry, nothing bad is going to happen. Trust me."

I didn't know what to say - did I tell her? About the dreams I'd had, the dreams Chip had had? The warnings from this disintegrating, rotting children? The kids who kept showing up in our dreams, all beautiful, all dead, all falling to pieces? All with the same eyes as her? Or did I pretend like I didn't know anything, pretend like I was just surprised, that's all.

Against my better judgment - I chose to tell her.

"Harlow," I said, whispering although it was only the two of us - as far as I knew, anyways. "Chip ... I was talking to him the other day. You know he had a weird dream?"

"Oh," she said blankly, clearing trying to make sense of my random blurb. "I .. that sucks, I hope he's alright?"

"Sorry, I should be more specific. He .. he had a dream about a boy, and the boy kept telling him to warn her, it's coming, over and over again."

Harlow frowned. "That's .. strange, yes."

"You don't think it has something to do with you, and the ghos - er, Chick, do you?"

Harlow bit back a smile, shaking her head. "How could Chip's dream possibly have anything to do with me?"

"The boy in the dream looked like you," I explained. "Well, besides the fact that he's a boy, you know. But he had the same color eyes as you."

She smiled this time, looking completely unworried. "Ryan, a **lot** of people have green eyes. It's the most uncommon color, I know, but there are hundreds of millions of people who - "

"Not just green, Lo," I interrupted apologetically. "Your exact shade of green. People have green eyes, tons do. But not like yours. Yours are ... one of a kind. There's no shade, no tone, no color - nothing - that can be used to describe it. And Chip said the boy had the exact shade as yours."

Still looking nonplussed, Harlow took a sip from her glass and folded her hands on top of one another. "Ryan, the subconscious is a very strange thing. Dreams - they don't only mean one thing, there's a million meanings all rolled into one. They're strange, and impossible to decipher. I did a course on - "

"_**I**_ had a dream, too, Harlow," I blurted out. "Not the exact same one, but ... there were the green eyes, the same warning."

She stopped talking, but no longer looked completely calm. I took my chance.

"Don't you think it's strange?" I asked her, scooting closer to the counter. "The girl in your apartment senses something bad is going to happen to you - Chip and I both have similar dreams about kids with green eyes telling us to warn you about something, they - "

"They told you specifically to warn _me_? They legitimately said Harlow?" she asked curiously.

"Well, no, but - "

"How do you know they were about me, then?" she asked, and there was a slight trace of exhaustion in her patient voice.

"I just .. I don't - we just _know_, Harlow," I sighed. "And what are the odds? All within a month, these dreams and the girl's premonition and - "

"It's not a premonition," she said simply. "It's a feeling. Not intuition, not a prophecy - just a feeling she has. And frankly, she's been dead for more then 30 years, I don't know how in tune with the real world she really is. And these dreams - these two dreams - they're not necessarily about me. Just because these kids have the same color eyes as I do, that doesn't mean it's _about_ me. It's a familiar color, if I was even slightly in your thoughts before you went to sleep, your brain could weave a certain detail about my appearance into the dream. It happened to be the color of my eyes - it could have been the color of my hair, the sound of my voice, the sofa from my living room."

"But it _was_ all those things. Except for the couch. These kids looked like you, just with deliberate mistakes."

"But they _weren't_ me," she said, and I heard for the first time in all the weeks I'd known Harlow, a slight trace of annoyance in her honey smooth voice. "They weren't. They didn't say my name. They didn't specify I was the one who had to be warned. It was just a dream."

She seemed to notice the slight bite in her voice, and her face fell into an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. I'm just ... don't worry about me, alright?"

She grasped my hand in both her tiny ones, lay it against her warm cheek. "You have enough on your plate. And frankly, I've never felt this good in my life. I feel great, academically I've never done better. The volleyball team's doing amazing. Everything in life is falling into place."

I nodded, and although my stomach was still in uncomfortable knots, the feeling of her cheek against the back of my hand sent a rush of blood through my entire body. It hazed my brain, blurred my vision, made my knees weak.

"You're right," I managed to mumble. "You're right."

"And I have you," she said simply, but her voice as sweet as sugar. "Life truly, _truly_ - has never been better then it is now."

My legs were turning to completely jelly - _ohgodohgodohgod_.

"Speaking of," I managed to stutter out. "We've never _officially_ decided on dating."

She grinned, a very wry and very cheeky one. "You're right, aren't you?"

"It happens sometimes."

She laughed. "Well ... are we?"

"Lemme make this official," I said, clearing my throat and grasping her hands in my own. "Harlow - you wanna go out with me?"

She grinned, pulled me close to her over the counter, and rested her lips against my own. I felt her eyelashes flutter against my skin, felt her warm, fruity breath rush past my cheeks.

"I'd love to," she whispered.

I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but less then ten seconds later, she was up against the wall of her kitchen, hands moving hungrily up and down my chest as she nibbled ferociously on my lip. I wasn't exactly innocent either - one hand tangled in her hair, the other grabbing helplessly at that _perfect_ bum.

She giggled, let a hand drop down to the waistband of my jeans. I thought it was accidental at first - but then I felt a tug, a soft yank and realized with pure jubilation her fingers were creeping slowly, with expertise, into my pants.

"Naughty," I managed to breathe, feeling completely drunk off the smell of her skin.

"Just you wait," she whispered in my ear.

Oh God, I was _totally_ getting laid tonight.

I swear, I only came to play Boggle.

**(Unknown)**

_"Warn her, please please tell her!"_

_I was confused - where the fuck was I?_

_It looked like a large field, but it was all in muted tones - blacks and greys, seaweedy green. It was foggy, misty - the trees had no leaves, the grass was dead. It was cold ... very __**very**__ cold. I looked at my hands - they were as pale as the sky, as withered as the branches dropping from the hollowed oaks._

_I looked up, into the eyes of that little girl. Beautiful ... mahogany hair, pale skin, lips as white as snow but eyes as large and round and bright as the sun - not yellow, though. Green. A brilliant and dazzlingly glimmer of color in this plain, barren, colorless world surrounding me._

_I reached out a hand, motioned for the girl to come close._

_"Who?" I asked, and although my hands had withered to nothing, my voice was strong, still relatively calm considering the panic creeping through my chest. "Warn who?"_

_"Harlow," she whispered - gagged, was more like it. _

_It was as if the name was like tiny razor blades, digging and demolishing her throat as it crept up and out of her mouth. She grabbed her throat with a hand, such a tiny dainty little one I couldn't keep my eyes off it._

_"Harlow?" I repeated. "Warn Harlow?"_

_"Harlow," she choked, her voice rasped and chillingly ragged. "Warn Harlow - it's coming, it's coming!"_

_She gagged, spluttered - great pools of scarlet red began to bubble at the corners of her mouth - I couldn't move, couldn't do anything. I stared in horror - the bubbles leaked down the sides of her mouth, dribbled down her front._

_I felt a horrified scream escape from my throat - a well of blood, so brilliantly red it was nearly blinding , cascaded from her mouth, like a waterfall of gore. It soaked the monotone dirt beneath her feet, bled color into the lifeless blades of grass beneath her. And then, perhaps even worse then the claret river erupting from her mouth, there was a ripping sound. Not like a piece of paper being torn into two. It was the sound of skin, being ripped from the bone. A smooth, gut-wrenching tear._

_The girls face, from the center of her forehead to the very back of her skull split into two. Surely she had to have died - but her eyes were still alive, transfixed in horror at the puddle of blood below her. It was as if she hadn't noticed the flesh of her scalp begin to peel, curl like rotting orange skins left in the sun._

_I was horrified - I felt like I had to vomit, but I couldn't. I felt like I should cry, but no tears would come. I felt like I needed to scream - but my voice was as terror-stricken as I was._

_So I watched - in fear, in nausea, in slight amazement - as the little girl before me came undone at her seams, skin falling into puddles around her, muscles and tissue withering and dying. Her skeleton, still standing, staring at me with a look of desperation in the sunken but still visible eyes._

Harlow,_ the green globes pleaded_, warn her, please.

_"Not tonight."_

_The voice was cold as a blast of arctic wind. As deep as the ocean, vehement and terrifying. It was behind me. I turned. I was ready._

_But I was wrong. _

_The scream that had so desperately tried to escape my lips before made it's way out. I didn't know what I was seeing, but I remember the entire world go black - _

_and I saw no more._

_"Tonight, you are mine." _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I've been away forever, I know I'm sorry sorry sorry! This chapter ... not pleased with it. But my life has been a nutty ball of hectic lately and Ipromise next chappy will be better! You munchkins ready for it? Chapter 25. It's next. And that's when the shit hits the fan. Actually no, shit doesn't just hit the fan - a Hummer filled with fecal matter, vomit and teardrops of starving children hits the fan. Yah. Not even joking, it's all downhill from here on out. BUT, that doesn't mean I'm any less cheerful. Or crazy. Let's face it, I'm nutty as squirrel poo. I have legitimately just finished nine days in a row of work and am so exhausted I actually think I might pass out. So very quickly, and I apologize for my laziness, I must thank; **XDeadlyImperfectionX, xoxoMyRealityIsFiction, PSUPRS, akahitoha, kcollins720, nouseforaname89 and WinchesterAngel3389!**

As always, my undying love for all of you is only matched by your mother and or father's love for you. But even then, it's pretty fuckin' close. I'm sorry I didn't reply individually, I just need to crash or I legit think I'm going to explode into a million exhausted pieces. I must scamper off now - there sleep to catch up on, chapters to write, hearts to break, dreams to crush! MWAHAHAHAHA *flails off*

**love; **ellahhhh! xo


	26. Boobie Skin Touch And ABBA Karaoke

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Boobie Skin Touch And ABBA Karaoke

**(Ryan)**

_"Please, please tell her! Tell her!"_

_She was frantic, the little girl before me. Her face was white, twisted in anguish, eyes sunken and mouth agape. Her feet were planted firmly in the ground, but her arms were stretched out, grasping at anything she could come in contact with. Her fingertips were literally only an inch or so from my shirt - I could feel the light air whooshing out from her spastically flailing hands._

_"Who?" I asked, but I myself couldn't move even an inch. "Tell who?"_

_"You know! You know!" she screamed, her hands no longer reaching but grasping at her own head._

_"I don't, please," I begged. "Who? Tell me, who?"_

_Her screams echoed all around me as the skin began to peel, the bones began to glow and the eyes burned with an emerald fire so terrible but so beautiful, I couldn't look away._

_And as the blood began to pour from every inch of her ripped skin, seep from every torn scrap of flesh - _

I woke.

**(Harlow)**

I had almost fallen asleep - in only a few seconds, I would've been completely conked out in my comfy, snug, warm bed.

But I felt his thrashing from beside me, my entire body jerking awake along with his.

I rolled over onto my side, clutching my sheets protectively in front of my chest - what a time _not_ to be wearing a shirt. Fuck my life. Making sure there was no evident nipple peeps, I reached over to my bedside table, flicking on the lamp. It lit the room up with it's dim glow, illuminating Ryan's pale, dampened face.

"Ryan?" I said softly, my voice slightly hoarse. "Are you alright?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, just ran his hand over his handsome face. His breaths were coming in short gasps, and I noticed a slight tremor running through his lean torso. I peered sneakily at his naked chest - it was much thinner then I'd expected. Slight ridges from his ribs peeked out from under his skin, a shallow well where other men's stomachs were.

"I'm fine," he said a second later, leaning back slightly against the headboard. "Sorry."

"Bad dream?" I asked, rubbing my hand against his arm.

He nodded, shaking his head a little as if he were trying to rid his brain of the nightmare.

"I swear that never happens," he mumbled, grasping in slight embarrassment at the blanket.

"It happens to all of us," I said sympathetically. "The world is filled with nightmares."

He peered over at me, noticed the thin sheets clutched limply in front of my chest. I saw a slight grin flicker on his beautiful face, and I couldn't help the smile that slid onto mine as well. If ever in my life I'd felt as self-conscious - but inexplicably beautiful - as I did now, I sure didn't remember it.

He slid back down onto his side of the bed, looking sleepily up at my face. I smiled, flicked the switch on the lamp once more, and curled up next to him. The feeling of my skin on his - not just hands this time, or his cheek - was indescribable. My boobie was on his chest. My. Boobie.

Swoo-_fuckin'_-oon.

I felt his rough hand grip my shoulder, lightly but with comfortable pressure. I snaked a hand across his chest, resting my fingers in the narrow grooves of his ribcage. The smell of him - of cologne, slight musk and post-sexy time sweat - nearly sent me over the edge. If they bottled the fragrance of his skin, I would buy a million bottles, pour it into a pool, and just float around in it for the rest of my life. It was _that_ amazing.

"I'm sorry," he said again, resting his chin on the top of my head.

I gave his chest a light peck, his side a soft squeeze. "Don't be. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I can honestly say, I've never been better."

I laughed, nuzzling my face into his side. "What did you dream about?"

He sighed. "That little girl."

"The one that keeps warning you about something?"

"Mhm."

"Weird."

"I know."

We fell into silence, still snuggled up against one another. I felt his chest rising and falling beneath my arm, felt the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. But still, my brain was ticking frantically. Another dream about that girl? It made me uneasy.

"When does your flight leave tomorrow?" I asked, my voice light with sleepiness.

"Six in the evening," he responded, his own smooth voice groggy. "Should be in Quincy by nine."

"I'm sorry I couldn't go," I said quietly. "Only I could be lucky enough to have an exam fall on that _exact_ date. I really would've loved to come."

"It'll be interesting," he agreed. "Potentially demonic case. Sad, but nevertheless, fascinating."

"I feel so terrible for that poor girl," I sighed.

"Laura, yeah. She's your age, too."

"So young."

Another silence fell over us, this one comfortable and easy. I could feel the slow, steady breathing of Ryan beside me, and I knew he'd fallen asleep. This time, I hoped, a dreamless one. Myself? I wasn't sure if I was going to sleep much that night.

The nightmares and these weird premonitions Chip and Ryan had been having had gotten me spooked. More then I'd tried to let on, anyways. First Chick, sensing this terrible event headed my way. Now Chip and Ryan? Strange, wasn't it? One half of my brain was literally terrified, pulsating and freaking at the thought of something bad going to happen. But the other part of my brain, the reasonable one, the one that remembered everything I'd learnt in psychology, was irritated. Had I not been studying dream analysis for the past two years? Had I not _just_ read a book about the subconscious' effect on individuals? Was I really going to let unfounded paranoia freak me out?

No. No I wasn't.

My reasonable brain sighed with relief, muffling out the paranoid half. I'd worry tomorrow, or the next day - or perhaps next year, even. Right now, I'd enjoy the night.

Or rather, enjoy the ridiculously attractive, butt naked man lying next to me.

Oh _yes_.

**(Eilfie)**

"Has anyone seen him?"

I pushed myself up off of the sunken couch in the living room, peering out into the darkened hallway. To my left, still curled in exhaustion on the couch, was Laura. To her left, Heather and Katrina were squished together on an armchair, and Sergey, Chip and Josh were seated on the couch on the opposite side of them. Ryan had disappeared nearly fifteen minutes ago, and we hadn't heard a peep out of him since.

We'd been in Quincy, Illinois for almost three days now. The case was much darker then any of us had expected - production team included. The house was dark, you could feel the oppression seeping from every corner of every room. It was like a perpetual dark cloud hanging over the quaint, cottagey home. Laura, the twenty four year old who was experiencing the most heinous activity of anyone, was the biggest shock of all.

She was thin, tiny and malnourished from the lack of sleep and lack of peace she'd been experiencing. There were black bags beneath her eyes, her hair thin and wispy from stress. A sweet girl, a creative girl - completely torn apart by the forces that had taken residence in her home. In her _body_.

The family had had enough. They'd gone through priest after paranormal team after priest, and they'd come up with no answers. We were their last hope.

I hadn't expected the damage we'd found here. No one had. Especially Ryan. I'd seen his eyes get darker, skin paler, as the days had ticked on. Now, by the third day, I could see him fading fast. He was exhausted, stressed - it was one of Ryan's few flaws. He'd let himself get too emotionally involved in the case. It would drain him, completely. All cases had that affect on him - but this one?

It looked like it was killing him.

Heather glanced up from her spot next to Katrina, motioned with her head to the kitchen. "I think he's out on the back porch."

Even Heather, who I couldn't remember ever looking, nevermind _sounding_ exhausted, was looking a little worse for the wear. The playful sparkle had vanished from her eyes, was replaced with a blank look of fatigue. No one else on the team looked any better - the stress from the family was taking it's toll on everyone.

"I'll go check on him," I volunteered.

Nobody argued - it didn't matter where you went in the house, the darkness followed you everywhere.

I padded through the hallway into the kitchen, past a few of the remaining production team huddled in the kitchen. Even _they _were looking distinctly woebegone. I smiled politely, but caught sight of Ryan hunched over the banister of the porch. I beelined for the french doors.

Allowing them to snap shut quietly behind me, I heard the soft murmur of Ryan's voice and noticed his phone pressed against his ear. I was a second away from turning and walking back in the house, when he glanced over, caught my eye, and muttered a quick 'goodbye' before hanging up.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't know you were on the phone."

"I was just saying goodbye, it's alright," he assured me, leaning back against the railing.

I noticed, with surprise, Ryan was looking a little better. Less pale, that's for sure. His eyes were brighter, more refreshed. He wasn't so tense, his body more relaxed then it'd been in days. I fought back a smile, the first real one I'd felt in days.

"Harlow?" I asked.

He smiled, gave a little nod. "Yeah."

"How is she?"

"Good. Great," he corrected, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Just returning her call, she left me a voicemail."

"Everything's okay with her?" I asked, walking over to the railing and leaning on it next to him.

He nodded. "She's great. Just been studying for exams, like everyone. Had her second of four this morning, thinks she did pretty well. She was just calling to see if I was alright."

I smiled. "She knows about the case, I assume?"

"I told her all about it last night," he sighed. "I was on the phone with her for over an hour. It was nice though ... it's good to vent."

"You look better," I noted.

He smiled. "Talking to her ... it makes me feel better."

"Does it?"

"Mhm. I feel ... happier, everytime I hear her voice. More at peace. Calmer."

"She has that effect," I agreed.

"Just something about her," he said softly.

We both stood in comfortable silence, looking at the dark house before us. As he glanced back into the kitchen, I saw his eyes darken again, and the look of dread fill his young face once more. I gave him a soft pat on the arm.

"Don't let it get to you," I said. "Think of Harlow, Ry. When it gets too hard, just think of her voice."

He nodded, and although the darkness didn't completely vanish from his eyes, I saw a slight ease wash over his face. The calm was back, fighting the anxiety - and apparently, winning.

"Her voice," he muttered. "It'll be alright."

I hoped so.

**(Harlow)**

"You're _sureeee_ you don't want to come out tonight?"

I rolled my eyes, tucking my books back into my bag.

"I appreciate the thought, Linds, really I do. But if I don't start **actually** studying, I'll never pass."

She sighed, helping me heave my ginormous bag over my shoulder - I legit thought I was going to fall on my face, the sheer weight of this backpack was enough to sink a boat.

"Harlow, you could read the title of a textbook and still manage to pass your exams," Linds said in exasperation. "Two dollar shot night - and open karaoke! Jenn - yes, **our** Jenn - is going to be smashed, singing Abba. Are you really going to turn that down?"

I grinned at the thought, but my mind had already been made. "I can't, Linds, really - but get some video of it, alright?"

Lindsey stuck out her bottom lip, fluttering her eyelashes. "Kimmy's going to be **so** bummed, Lo! And Ryan's not even in town ... you can't coop yourself up in your apartment all week, you need to get _out_."

I shook my head. "It's not that, trust me. I'd love to come out, but I can't. Marbanks added a whole extra page to his exam, and it's all long answer."

Lindsey shuddered - those were the worst three words any college student could ever hear. _All long answer_. Barf.

"You poor, poor girl," Lindsey sighed dramatically. "Well alright, if there's long answer ... Kimmy will never forgive you, I hope you know."

"Oh I do," I said sadly. "Tell her I'll buy her an entire box of donuts next time I see her. That should make it up to her."

"You're a genius," Lindsey said with a grin. "I may be her best friend, but I swear you know her better then I do sometimes ... damn Psychic. I'll text you later!"

She gave me a one armed hugged, squeezed my shoulders lightly, and bounced off through the throngs of people now filling through the hallways. She'd disappeared less then a second later. I dragged my bookbag further up my arm, took one uneasy look at the jampacked hallways, and beelined back towards the Leeman corridor.

For some reason, the Leeman hall never seemed to be very busy ... in fact, more often then none, it was completely abandoned. Rumor has it, some thirty years ago, a girl was murdered in these very halls, and her body wasn't found for almost a week. It was a popular fable, one that made it's way around campus every year. But there was no history of any such death, especially not in the Leeman corridor. Just a rumor.

I knew, however, that this supposed story wasn't true. How many times had I walked down this hallway on my own? And late at night, no less? There was no spirit here. One of the only places on campus I _couldn't_ sense one, truth be told. It was silent. No humming of spirits, no whirring of portals. No screaming, no moaning, no heckling. Of all the places at Penn State, this was one of my favorites.

It was the only place I could go for complete peace and quiet.

I bumped the door open with my hip, stepped into the cool air of the hallway. Dead empty. What a shock. I could barely contain the smile that was threatening to spill over my face - complete peace. Complete quiet. It was _perfect_.

The corridor wasn't too long - about thirty feet from one door to the next. But the entire left side was dominated by plate glass windows that looked out onto the front lawns of the library. I slowed my pace, peeked out into the open fields below me. There were students milling about - some seated, textbooks open and faces blank. Other were sitting on the low hills, talking, laughing. There was a group of guys, probably no older then myself, throwing around a football. The university was at peace.

But I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach, one I couldn't ignore. Everything was good, calm. Everyone was okay. Why did I feel like this was the calm before the storm?

I looked down again, felt my heart skip a beat. Directly below the large window was a man, early to mid thirties. He was standing very still, peering up at me with strangely blackened eyes. His mouth was downturned, skin pale as snow. He was wearing a military suit, khaki green and perfectly pressed. His hands were stiff at his sides, feet planted firmly in the ground. But what startled me most - the gaping wound, raw but unbleeding, in his right side.

A spirit, no doubt. They rarely startled me anymore, but I'd never seen this one before. And he was staring _right_ at me - I think anyone would've been spooked. I nodded, smiled as politely as I could, but I felt my heart jump again. About ten feet behind him, a girl, standing exactly like the army man.

And staring at me.

A shallow wound in the top of her head, hair knotted and tangled with coagulated blood. Her face pretty, but eyes serious and just as black as the other man's. Hands straight at her thin sides, feet firmly in the ground.

My heart began to thump rapidly, my stomach churning in painful knots. They were everywhere, the spirits - behind the girl, a younger male. To his right, an old man. In front of him, a middle aged woman. All black eyes. All standing very still. All staring. At _me_. How could I have missed that?

I took a step back from the window, my arms trembling. Students continued to mill about the grounds, walking around, through and past all the unmoving statues of the dead. Their black eyes followed me, bore into me with no mercy.

My bookbag dropped to the ground, but I didn't really pay attention to it. I felt dizzy, fuzzy. The world was spinning, but still their eyes were glaring into me, shooting looks of the utmost contempt. I didn't understand - what was happening?

I stooped down, balancing on my feet, knees drawn up to my face. I closed my eyes, willed the images to go away, to leave my mind. But the shadows of those people, of their _eyes - _they stayed. I focused on my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out. In. Out.

My heart calmed a little, but was still racing much faster then usual. The world had stopped spinning, but I was still terrified, unwilling to open my eyes. My feet were firm on the carpeted floor, but I refused to move. I kept all my focus on my breathing.

In.

_Out_.

In.

_Out_.

In -

"Harlow?"

My eyes popped open - with a wave of relief, I realized that the spinning had absolutely come to a halt - and I peered up from my knees.

Sophie.

She had two or three textbooks grasped against her front, her eyes focused down on me. Her honey blonde hair drawn up in a messy bun, those piercing baby blues staring wearily. Her knuckles were white from clutching her books so hard.

I began to rise, faltering slightly but catching myself before I could stumble or stagger. I looked down into the grounds - nothing. There was nobody there anymore. Just students. Sitting, laughing, studying. No more spirits. Had I gone crazy?

"Are you alright?" Sophie asked, but her voice wasn't nearly as icy as I imagined it would've been.

It was much lighter now, much more cautious. Almost _worried_. I barely took notice, though - I was still staring down onto the campus grounds. I shook my head a little, looked over at her. Willing myself to forget what I had just seen - or, had I _really_ even seen anything?

"Fine," I said, but the ice that was no longer evident in her voice seemed to have transferred into mine. "I'm alright. Just felt a bit dizzy."

"Exams," she said sympathetically. "You never _did_ eat properly during them."

"I'm eating fine," I said simply, gathering my bag and fallen papers from the floor. "I just felt a bit dizzy."

"Maybe you're dehydrated?" she offered. "I'm just heading to the Juice Bar, if you wanted to .. "

She trailed off, but I felt intense irritation erupt in my brain. I didn't feel surprised or flattered or relieved - who the fuck cared if she was talking to me? Besides game day, she hadn't managed to say even one _word_ to me in over four weeks. Why the hell would I care now? The same beast, that identical monster that had taken over at last week's volleyball game was back, and with a vengeance.

"I'll pass," I said, my voice much sharper then it'd ever been. "I've got other things to do."

That was never something I would've said - I felt the shock tingle through my entire system, but I couldn't help the smug feeling that was washing through me either. It was like game day all over again ... I was stronger then I'd ever been. I just didn't know how it was possible.

Instead of giving me her usual stink eye and some offhanded insult, she simply nodded, pushed a piece of her hair back behind her ear, and walked off down the rest of the hallway. There was a strange look in her eyes, I'd caught it before she turned. It was confusion. Shock. Hurt. I watched her as she walked away, grinned as she disappeared through the metal doors. I'd hurt her - she would've never admitted it, but I'd hurt her.

Why, then, did it feel so good?

**(Ryan)**

"That was just awful."

Kat's voice was raspy, gravelly with the little sleep she'd had in the last few days. There were deep bags beneath her eyes, her skin much paler then usual. There was a sunken look to her face, a strange almost _gaunt_ hollowness I'd never seen before.

But that's what demonic cases did to people, wasn't it?

I nodded, but kept my eyes on the road. I wasn't tired, I'd slept better last night then I had the past three. But I felt drained, confused. Upset.

"We did everything we could," I said, more to convince myself then her. "I think the prayer will work ... if we can get people all over the world to just say a prayer for that family, I think they'll be alright."

Katrina nodded, but didn't look particularly convinced.

It was just the two of us, driving back towards Pennsylvania. We'd be home in a little more then 8 hours, but the journey was depressing. Although we were both exhausted, both physically, emotionally and mentally drained from the week's case, it was nice to be alone. I loved the team, and so did Katrina, but right now neither one of us felt like listening to Heather's cheerful chatter, or Sergey's relentless questions or Josh's perpetual pessimism. We just wanted calm.

I kept straight down the highway, the sun sinking slowly beneath the road before us. We had left Quincy too late, we'd have to stop somewhere for the night.

Katrina leaned back against the headrest, feet propped up against the dashboard.

"I'll just be glad to get home," she said softly.

"Me too," I agreed. "My own bed. A good night's sleep."

"I feel like I haven't slept in years," Kat sighed. "I had this horrible nightmare a couple nights ago, the first evening we were on the case. I don't think I've slept properly since."

It was just an offhand comment, but a light went off in my brain. I feigned nonchalance, kept my eyes on the road, but decided to push a little further. Ever since I'd started having these strange, reoccurring nightmares, I couldn't help but wonder how many other people - **if** any - were having them as well.

"Nightmare, eh?" I said casually. "About what?"

Katrina sighed, ran a hand through her hair - my heart skipped a beat, it was such a Harlowish thing to do. I felt my stomach flop miserably - I hadn't seen Lo in days.

"I don't even know what it was about," she said, peering out the window. "I can't remember everything about it. All I remember is that it was from my point of view, and all I could see was this little girl in front of me."

I felt the air catch in my throat, but I struggled to keep my composure.

"Little girl?" I asked.

"Yeah, " Kat said, mouth down-turned. "I don't even know what it was about ... it was this little girl, and she was this beautiful little thing. Never seen a child so breath-taking before in my life, truth be told. Thick brown hair, these big bright eyes, porcelain skin. Just flawless."

"What's so terrifying about that?" I asked, my voice squeaky.

Katrina didn't seem to notice - she was deep in thought. "And she was standing in front of me, and she kept saying something ... like, tell them or something .. I don't remember - I'm coming? It's coming? I - "

"Tell her, warn her, it's coming," I said monotonely, heart racing a mile a minute.

Katrina looked over at me, brow furrowed. "Yeah ... tell her, it's coming. But how did you - "

"And then she started to rot, right in front of your eyes," I said, knowing _exactly_ what Kat had seen - I'd seen it too.

"Ryan," Katrina said softly. "How .. how do you know that?"

"Because I've had that exact dream," I sighed. "So has Chip."

"But ... how could we have all had the same dream?" Katrina asked, frowning.

"I don't know," I said quietly. "But tell me something. This little girl, what do you remember most about her?"

"That she was beautiful," Katrina said blankly, hands grasping her knees so tightly her knuckles had gone white. "Inhumanly beautiful."

"But what else," I pressed, not wanting to hear it but knowing it was coming. "What do you remember, even after she'd fallen to pieces, what do - "

"The eyes!" Katrina gasped, and I nearly swerved into a ditch at her abrupt panic. "Green! Harlow's green!"

I grimaced, steadied the car back onto the highway. _Nailed it._

"But what does that mean?" she asked me, looking completely flabbergasted. "This girl, that little girl - was that Harlow?"

"I don't think so," I said truthfully. "I don't know who it is, or .. or what. But I've had that dream four times now, Chip's at two. And it's always the same - 'warn her, it's coming'."

"Warn her. Her as in ..." but she couldn't finish the sentence.

"I don't know," I said quietly.

"What could be coming?" Katrina whispered, blank eyes turned back onto the road.

"Something bad, apparently," I said. "I don't know ... maybe it's just a dream though. Maybe we're all overreacting."

"Maybe," Katrina said, but I could tell she was lying.

And so was I.

What was coming? And who was trying to warn us? The little girl and the little boy? Them? But what did they know about Harlow, how were _they_ connected to her? Now it hadn't only been Chip and I that had sensed something, it had been Katrina too. Chip made sense - he was from Harlow's past, wasn't he? She remembered him, knew him as a child. If something bad was going to happen, naturally they'd warn someone they knew could help her. And me? Maybe it was because I was romantically involved with her? Maybe they thought she'd listen to me before anyone else.

But now Katrina? It didn't make sense ... sure Harlow and Kat got along well. But they hadn't known each other any longer then she and I had. And I hardly thought they were close friends ... Harlow seemed closer to Heather then any of the team, and Heather undoubtedly would've mentioned it if she'd been having strange dreams. It seemed to me that this little girl and boy were trying desperately to communicate with _anyone_.

Anyone they thought could warn Harlow.

I just wish I knew _what_ they wanted to warn her about.

**(Harlow)**

"I'm home."

I dragged myself into the front room, hair I'm sure frazzled and makeup smeared all over my face. I was _exhausted_, holy mother of God.

I kicked the door shut behind me, let my bags plop down on the floor. I had never in my life - and I mean _never_ - been so glad to be home. Everything was inviting. My mess of coats and shoes on the hardwood floors. My wacky Salvation Army lamp on the front table. The dull buzz of the television set. The smell of Febreeze, coconuts and candles. This was home - I was **home**.

THANK. GAWWWWWD.

I dragged myself through the hallway leading into the living room - as usual, Chick was perched atop the sofa, staring in severe boredom at the television set. She was watching Golf.

"Golf?" I said in amusement, plopping down in the love seat adjacent. "Didn't take you for a golf fan."

"As fascinating as it is - and let me assure you, there's no sport more thrilling - I just sat down."

I smiled, her usual snide sarcasm a relief. She'd been so on the edge lately, it was nice to hear her reverting back to her former self. Even if her former self _was_ a little irritating.

"You're home late," she noted, nodded at the wall clock.

I peered up, felt my stomach flop. "Past midnight! Jesus!"

"12:32, I thought you'd died," she said blandly. "Although the irony in me thinking that is almost too hilarious to handle."

I grinned, snuggling down against the poofy arm of the chair. I swear I smelt a hint of old spice in the cushion - my heart spasmed a little.

I'd almost forgotten - Ryan was home tomorrrow! Or today, rather, since it was now after midnight ... but he was coming home! Four days had legitimately felt like an eternity. What I'd give to see that handsome face again, to smell that beautiful smell ... to ride that gorgeous di -

"Were you studying this whole time?" Chick asked, my raunchy day dream slipping away.

"Unfortunately," I said, trying to gather my thoughts from the gutter. "Yeah ... Couple days and it'll all be over with."

We both sat in silence for a couple of minutes, before I strained my head around to look up at the clock. Ugh. I had to be up in a couple of hours ... stupid volleyball practice.

"I'm going to crash," I informed Chicky, my body screaming in protest as I crawled away from the warm chair. "Gotta be up at seven."

"Have a good sleep," she said, eyes still focused on the simply _thrilling_ game on the screen.

I grabbed the remote, flipped over to the history channel. She grunted in thanks, and I padded across the room and down the hall into my bedroom.

**(Chick)**

_"Three days after the Valentines Massacre, Senator Pascal agreed to sign the treaty. A move that would go down in history as one of the best decisions the small country of Peru had made in generations."_

"So that's how it ended," I muttered.

I glanced at the clock again - 1:13. Harlow'd undoubtedly be in bed by now. How nice it must've been, to sleep like that. I couldn't remember the last time I had ... I don't think I even remembered what it felt like, to sleep. To dream.

I _was_ a dream, wasn't I? I wasn't real to anyone anymore. Anyone except Harlow, that is.

From across the room, I jumped a little at the abrupt ringing of the telephone. I frowned. Who'd be calling this late? It was nearly 1:30 in the morning ... did no one have any respect or decency anymore?

I strained my ears, which wasn't hard (when you're dead, your five senses seem to intensify ... might as well get _some_ kind of cool gift, right?), heard the beeping stop after about the fourth ring. Harlow must've picked it up in her bedroom.

I was content, very content, to continue watching my documentaries, but there was a noise coming from Harlow's room that kept me from doing exactly that. It was strange .. a little moaning at first, then high pitched squealing, and then ...

sobbing.

Full on, heart-wrenching, out of control sobbing.

**(Sophie)**

I swear to God, two seconds later and I wouldn't have even picked up.

In fact, right now and I really didn't think I was going to.

Even under three pillows, I could hear that incessant ringing, that awful beeping. The stupid, God damn phone. I hated it. Oh God, how I hated it.

I threw the pillows off my head, reached blindly in the dark for that good for nothing Blackberry. I swear, I'd only had it a couple of weeks but I was already ready to throw it out the window. I could already tell you who it was. One of two people. Either my Mum, calling me drunk to tell me how much of a disappointment I was. Or two, Natalie, asking if I remembered where she lived and what side of the condom was the inside and which was the outside.

After the last month, I really didn't have a lot of friends calling anymore ...

So you can imagine my surprise - complete and total shock - when I grabbed the phone, peered blearily at the ID, and saw Harlow's name illuminated in shiny neon print.

To answer, or not to answer - that was the question.

... I answered.

The other end of the line was a little fuzzy, and at first I thought it was static. After a split second though, I realized it wasn't the connection at all - it was Harlow. She was crying.

"Hello?" I said, willing the sleep out of my voice. "Ahem - sorry. Harlow? Are you okay?"

She didn't respond at first, her choking gasps and hiccups not allowing her to. I sat up a little in bed, pulled my knees up under my chin.

"Lo? It's Sophie, listen, are you alright? Where are you, do you need me to come get you?"

"S-sophie," she shuddered, sniffling and gasping for air. "Soph."

"I'm here, Lo, what's up?" I asked again, feeling my heart thudding in my chest.

It didn't matter that we hadn't talked in weeks, that we were on the outs for the better part of this entire last month. My head was filling rapidly with these terrible mental images ... Harlow alone in a dark alley, or in some weird guy's trunk or ... bleeding on some curb somewhere. My mind was alert, snapping into consciousness much quicker then I ever thought possible. Wherever she was, I'd help her ... she must've been in trouble.

But the next words out of her mouth not only disproved this theory, but sent me into my own downward spiral of panic, shock and complete and utter misery:

"Sophie," she choked. "Soph. It's Kimmy - she's dead."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

My heart, it breaks :( I'm gonna make this quick, because I'm legit writing the next chapter as we speak, trying to brush my hair, whitening my teeth and painting my nails. THE BEST AT MULTI-TASKING, THAT'S ME. My thank you's;

**xoxoMyRealityIsFiction** (HAHAH YES, let's boggle our brains out ;) ), **PSUPRS** (MY LOVELY SORA! hahaha the chapter was bipolar. BIPOLAR LIKE MEEE ... but not actually, hope you enjoyed the chappy love you long long time!), **kcollins720** (i'm terrible i know i know! but here's the answer to the cliffy, in the form of another cliffy!) and **WinchesterAngel3389** (oh barf work! hope you enjoyed the chapter, i lovealovea you!).

I know this chapter was a little depressing ... but it's only going to get worse. Bear with me okay? I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH, see how speedy I was at updating? *bows*

**love; **ellah! xo


	27. Author's Note!

To all my wonderful Readers:

I know it's been more than 7 months (7 MONTHS HOLY MOLY) since I have last updated, and I have no one to blame but myself. I'm so sorry everyone, I'm a terrible terrible updater! The truth is, during the Summer I lost all inspiration to write, had so many brain farts my brain has shrunk to a quarter of it's size and I hit a roadblock in the story that I really didn't know how to come back from … then come September, University literally took over my life and I have had no time for anything except essays, textbook chapter summaries and 6 page assignments on Mead's Theory of Development … and come January to April, I will likely have no time yet again to work on this story. BUT. In 5 days (Yes, only FIVE DAYS MY SWEET READERS), I HAVE A MONTH OFF FOR WINTER BREAK.

And I'm feeling inspired!

So again, my sincerest and deepest apologies for being the worst updater in the history of all writers, but I will make it up to you! I hope to pump out (gross) at least 3 chapters over the next month, and as proof of my sincere disappointment in self, I dedicate the rest of this story to all of you, the wonderful reviewers who have kept my spirits up and reminded me of the importance of storytelling. Because of all your wonderful reviews and encouraging comments (and slightly terrifying and threatening PM's), I have decided once this exam week is over, I will focus solely over the Christmas break on this story that I really, truly love to write.

It's people like you that inspire people like me to keep being creative and to never ever give up! And I will never ever give up on this story, you better believe it! Thank you all again so much for your patience and your love, and I will see you all in about two weeks time with the next chapter!

You're all wonderful people, have the greatest of weeks/months/years/lifetimes!

See you in a **flash**,

**love;** _Ellah!_


	28. Lets Substitute Tea With Arsenic

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Tea Party, But Lets Substitute Tea With Arsenic

**From The Memory of Dr. Susan Miller, Ph.D**

**Head of the Department of Clinical Psychology, Penn State University**

**Subject 0079230**

_Kapor, Sophie M._

"It was brave of you to come here today, Miss ... ?"

"Kapor," she said simply. "Sophie Kapor."

"Miss Kapor," I nodded. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

She said nothing, jaw clenched, the already harsh lines of her face tightening even more. Her body resembled her face - sleek but tense, hardened, angry.

"Can I get you something?" I asked, motioning to the cabinet adjacent to my desk. "Water? Tea? Coffee?"

"I don't suppose you have scotch," she said listlessly, staring at the foot my desk with furious indifference.

I smiled. "No, my apologies. Not allowed on campus, no less in a Professor's office."

She gave a jerky nod, eyes still not meeting mine.

"Have you had psychological treatments before?" I asked, pulling my chair a little closer to hers - she backed away slightly, unconsciously, head tilting further down, eyelashes hiding the grayish blue of her pupils.

"No," she said, eyes still averting my own. "Never."

"That's alright," I assured her, resting my hands on my leg. "You know why you're here, I assume?"

She glanced up at me for the first time, icy eyes piercing my own - I remained still, although inwardly I reeled in shock at seeing such fury come from such a petite, pleasant looking woman. That anger could fuel a war.

"Because the University bigwigs feel that everyone who knew Kimmy is now a high suicide rate potential, and if they don't get us help for our feelings we're all going to sit in a field with candles , blaring Marilyn Manson and ritualistically drink arsenic from an empty urn," she said cantankerously, crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest. Her fingertips whitened from pressure.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Going to sit in a field and drink arsenic?"

She peered at me with a glare of haughty irritation and frowned. "No."

"And why aren't you going to do that?"

"Are you suggesting I do?"

"Not at all."

"Then why do you ask?"

"It's my job."

She said nothing for a moment, sniffed, then shifted slightly in her chair. "No, I'm not going to."

"And why not?"

She paused again. " ... I don't know where to find arsenic, and frankly I despise Marilyn Manson's self indulgent interpretation of death Metal gothic shitstorm music."

I smiled slightly, leaning back in my chair. "I agree with the latter. But if you knew where to find arsenic?"

She shrugged. "Not the route I'd take."

"Why?"

"There's better ways to kill yourself, I imagine. Less painful. Less extravagant."

"Have you thought of the different ways?"

Her brows furrowed in sincere disgust, arms falling onto her lap. Her mouth formed a tight frown, eyes glaring furiously at me, clenched fists shaking slightly in badly suppressed rage.

"Look," she said, the bitterness, resentment and anger in her voice filling the room. "My friend just died. She was alive six days ago, and now she's dead. I'm not a fucking doctor, but asking me how I feel about killing myself is a little inappropriate, don't you think?"

I nodded solemnly. "You're right. I apologize."

She blinked, leaning back slightly in her chair, but remaining uncomfortably rigid. "It's fine."

"To another topic," I offered, flipping a piece of paper over on my lap. "Kimmy."

"I don't want to talk about Kimmy."

"Why not?"

"Because that's all anyone's been talking about for the last week."

"This upsets you?"

"Talking about my friend who was killed in a car wreck? No, of course it doesn't upset me. Why on Earth would it upset me? I love talking about it. Let's go over all the details. Let's talk about our predictions of what the autopsy's going to say, shall we? What do you think her last moments felt like? Do you think she was scared? Do you think she knew what was happening? It's all very interesting, let us continue talking about this morbidly fascinating story, because that's really what I fucking feel like doing."

She shifted again in her chair irritably, knuckles white as snow from their firm grip on her pant leg. The sleek blonde hair so immaculately styled when she'd arrived now seemed disheveled, fly-away. What I assumed was just a permanently established spark of fury in her eyes was now almost overshadowed by a cloud of despair and misery. She was crumbling, the rock hard exterior slowly giving way.

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, Sophie," I said softly.

"Then what," she said roughly, no longer looking at me. "What do you want to talk about?"

"What was Kimmy to you?" I asked.

**(Subject 0079231)**

_Vincent, Harlow N._

"A friend," she said quietly. "A wonderful person. A teammate. A .. a lifeline."

I nodded, looking curiously at the remarkably beautiful girl sitting before me. "Interesting word to describe a person as. '_Lifeline'_."

She said nothing, plump lips down-turned, fluorescently green eyes hazy. The chestnut hair hung limp, listless down her shoulders. Her thin hands were cradled solemnly in her lap, her shoulders hunched and that tawny face steadily losing it's color.

"You're the coach of the volleyball team, is that correct Ms. Vincent?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes, that's correct."

"You must have known Kimberley fairly well, is that fair to assume?"

"Yes."

"You handpicked her to be on the team?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"She has talent. Phenomenal abilities. And she's just … so likeable."

I crossed my hands in my lap, mirroring Harlow unintentionally. She was gazing behind me, at a point somewhere behind my right shoulder. Her eyes were blank, her answers perfunctory but oddly, in the present tense.

"She has talent, she's just so likeable. Do you mean to say she _had_ talent? _Was_ so likeable?"

Harlow said nothing, but her mouth thinned considerably into a hard straight line.

"Is that what you meant, Harlow?" I asked gently.

"I suppose so," she said softly, voice tinkling like a bell.

"You suppose?"

"I haven't wrapped my head around it yet, I guess."

"Well that is very normal," I assured her. "In psychology, there's the Kubler-Ross model of the different stages of grief. It's composed of - "

"I know," she said, rather apologetically. "I know of the Kubler-Ross model."

"You've read about it?"

"I major in psychology."

"Wonderful," I said, earnestly pleased. "Fascinating subject."

"Quite," she said softly.

"Then you must understand the five stages," I urged. "First year intro Psych."

"I do."

"What are they?"

"I don't understand why I need to explain the Kubler-Ross model of Stages of Grief to a professor of psychology at Penn State."

She looked at me full in the face for the first time, with a rather pained expression. "I'm sorry. Sorry. That was rude."

I shook my head. "No apology necessary. I meant for your own sake, not mine. Tell me what stage you're on."

"I've gone backwards to one," she said quietly.

"You've accepted it?"

"Understand more than accept."

"You've felt severe depression about her death?"

"I still do."

"You've bargained?"

"For about a minute."

"And you've been angry?"

"I _am_ angry."

"So that leaves us … ?"

**(Subject 0079232)**

_Thomas, Lindsey T._

"Denial," she said listlessly. "I'm not in denial."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I know it happened."

"Knowing something has happened is not that same as understanding why."

Her dark brown eyes flashed irritably in my general direction, but the great crocodile tears continued to pour down her cheeks in miserable unison.

"Of course I don't understand why it happened. How could anybody understand why?"

"Drunk driving is so hard to wrap your head around," I said sympathetically. "When something as selfish as driving under the influence takes someone we love so much away from us so unfairly, it's nearly impossible to understand why it happened."

"She didn't deserve it," Lindsey said quietly, great teardrops pooling at the top of her sweater.

"No one deserves it," I agreed.

"But especially Kimmy!" she said furiously. "Kimmy never drank. She hated alcohol. She … she was going to be a doctor. For fuck sakes, she had a family! She had us! That .. th-that asshole, he hit her, didn't he know, doesn't he .. doesn't he care?"

I nodded, allowing the silence marked by her sobs to fill the room. I lay a hand on her knee, resigning myself to silence as she cried.

**(Subject 0079233)**

_Carson, Emma B._

"It's hard to understand she's gone, isn't it?"

The petite blonde nodded, gazed distractedly out the window into the ground of Penn State below.

"It's confusing," she said simply.

"Why?" I asked.

She frowned, but didn't avert her gaze from the window. "It's just .. confusing. How it's all still going on, life, you know?"

"Explain to me," I pressed.

Still, she stared placidly out the window.

"I mean … how is the world still spinning?"

"Life goes on."

"But Kimmy **was** life."

"How so?"

"She brought life to everything," the girl explained, her voice not cheerful, but not nearly as broken as the others I'd heard today. "This world, this University, this room, these buildings. They just .. they can't exist without her. Surely, they can't. I mean ... she brought light to everything."

"She still can, can't she?"

"Well no, because she's dead now, isn't she?"

She finally broke her gaze with the window and turned to look at me. Half of the girls in the room had begun to cry barely five minutes in to the session. A few of them had passed misery and moved on to depression and denial. But the girl before me, Emma was her name, just stared at me simply. Slightly confused, slightly angry. But more just calm, generally complacent.

"Well yes," I agreed. "But even in death, can't people still give us light? Through memories, through how they lived, when they still could?"

She seemed to ponder this for a moment, eyes not leaving my face. Finally, she flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder and shrugged.

"Have you ever lost someone, Mrs. Miller?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"My mother and my father. Ten years ago and four years ago, respectively."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Time heals all wounds. Why do you ask?"

"Weren't you confused?"

"By what?"

"By them dying?"

"Well .. No. I understood what happened. I was sad, and angry. Upset. But I was never confused. That's a strange word to use."

"It's the only word to sum up what I feel," she said softly.

"How so?"

**(Subject 0079234)**

_Klumper, Ashlee. G_

"How can everyone still be okay?"

I frowned. "I don't think everyone is okay, Ashlee."

She shook her dark hair behind her shoulders, rubbed angrily at the wet beneath her dark eyes. "I don't mean us, the team. I mean … the rest of the world. Everyone else. It's so confusing."

"They didn't know her, Ashlee. Not everyone."

"But … I don't understand it," she repeated, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don't get it."

"Tell me what you don't understand."

"How can everyone just go on with life?" she asked quietly. "How can people keep studying? How can they eat, how can they sleep? How can they … live?"

She looked at me, legitimate confusion stretched across her thin face. "Don't they know that Kimmy's just died? How can the … how, how can the world keep spinning? She's gone."

She inhaled deeply, sighed raggedly. "I hadn't spoken to her in months … there was a fight, a big one, between half the team and the other half. She was on one side, I was on the other. I hadn't talked to her in a month."

"What was the fight about?"

**Subject 0079230**

_Kapor, Sophie M._

"That's not important," Sophie said simply, returning to her angry slump in the armchair. "That's not why we're here."

"Of course not," I agreed. "But it's important to discuss. Many of the girls I've spoken to today - nearly half of them, actually - mention their guilt over the fight the team had nearly a month ago."

"My heart bleeds for them," she said indifferently.

"And you were involved," I pressed, but backed off slightly at the fleeting look of homicidal maniac that flashed through her eyes. "But if you don't wish to talk about it .. "

"I don't."

"Alright."

"Great."

We both sat in silence for a moment, not meeting one another's gaze. I felt uncomfortable around her. She clearly felt the same. I glanced at the clock, noting that our time had nearly come to a close.

"We're almost done, Sophie."

"I regret feeling gleeful about that."

"That, I doubt."

"Maybe you're not such a quack after all."

I smiled. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about, Sophie?"

"Not really."

"Any final thoughts?"

"On what?"

"Kimmy."

She said nothing for a moment, twiddled her thumbs in counter-clockwise circles. Her eyes were dark, clouded with something I couldn't make out. Moments later, she peered up at me, face set, jaw sharpened once more.

"I loved her like a sister. I regret not speaking to her. I know she's dead. I know I'm sad. I know I'm angry. But most of all, I'm confused. But I don't want to talk to you anymore, and I won't. I will be confused, and I don't need you helping me with it I will deal with this - all of this - by myself."

"How can you manage to help yourself when you've admitted to me numerous times today that you're confused?"

"Because confusion is not necessarily an inability to comprehend. In this case, it's just a roadblock, and I am more than capable of driving myself the fuck around it."

**(Subject 0079231)**

_Vincent, Harlow N._

"Confusion seems to be the common theme amongst all your teammates."

"Confusion is the unifying theme in all deaths, Mrs. Miller."

"Truth," I acknowledged.

She peered up at the clock above my desk, and returned her remarkably unnerving gaze back to me. "My session is over, ma'am."

I looked behind me at the clock - she was right. But I wasn't finished. Not quite yet.

"Are _you_ confused, Miss Vincent?"

She blinked, but her pokerface didn't budge. "Of course."

"Why are you confused, Harlow?"

She bent and retrieved her book bag from the floor, laying it delicately over her knees. "Same reason as everyone else, ma'am."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Everyone seems to be confused about more than just Kimmy's death, Harlow."

"Is _that_ so?"

"It is."

"I sympathize with them," she said softly, now swinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Why do you sympathize?" I asked quietly.

"Because I understand," she said, rising from her chair.

I stood as well, towering over her short stature easily.

"They don't," I said quietly. "And they're hoping you can help explain it. Help them ... find closure."

"I can't," she said, jaw clenched.

"Why is that?" I asked gently.

"Because I can't find the closure they're looking for," she said simply. "I can't give them the answers they believe I can."

"Why can't you?" I pressed.

She said nothing for a moment, unmoving and hands curled tightly around the straps of her purse. A look of understanding passed over her face, and she smiled a humorless smile up at me, backing away a couple of steps.

"Because I can't see her," she said simply, morosely. "I don't know why. I don't understand it. But I can't help them. I can't help."

And with surprising speed and agility, she disappeared from my room in the blink of an eye, the light coconut scent of her perfume the only thing she'd left behind.

**(Sophie)**

"Harlow, wait! Wait!"

I looked over Emma's shoulder at Lindsey, who was calling out desperately to Lo. With what looked like extreme reluctance, Harlow slowed, slowed, came to a halt, and turned to face Lindsey. Her face looked pained, paler than it ever had.

"Hey, Linds."

"Harlow," Lindsey said, her voice hoarse and ravaged. "Hey. Hey."

"Hey," Lo replied softly. The same look of tremendous pain was etched in every curve of her face.

Emma and I stayed quite motionless, facing each other but taking in every word, every whisper of their conversation. Emma's eyes were wide, teeth ground together. I could hear my heartbeat reverberating in my ears. We didn't dare move, dare intervene.

"Harlow, I need .. I need to ask you something," Lindsey said quietly.

"Sure, Linds, sure ... but I'm, I'm kind of in a rush, I - "

"Do you see her?" Lindsey said, her voice choked and despairingly hopeful. "You know .. do you see ... her?"

Harlow said nothing for a moment, but I saw her swallow in discomfort, roll back on her heels and tug anxiously at the strap of her bag. I met her eyes, very quickly and for less then a millisecond, and I saw how a mingled cloud of guilt and misery had washed over them.

"Lindsey," she said softly, painfully. "Linds ... I - no, I don't."

"But, Harlow," Lindsey said, slowly, as if trying to wrap her head around it. "You're ... y'know. You're psychic, you can see the dea - uhm. You can see things, things we can't. I just want to know if she's ... you know, if she's okay."

Harlow winced at every word Lindsey had so pleadingly whispered, her face growing more and more pallid every second she was forced to stay in this conversation.

"I know," she said quietly. "I know I'm supposed to, but ... there are limits, I guess, Linds. I can't see everything, everyone. I can't .. I don't see her. I don't know why, but I don't. It's different .. different cases, different people, different situations .. I can't control it, how it works."

A silence fell over the two of them, Harlow lost for words and Lindsey no longer looking for them. They both gazed at one another, Lo's face full of apologetic despair, and Linds' blank and unbelieving. There was another awkward few seconds of silence, before Lindsey backed away a few steps, and hung her head in defeat.

"Lindsey," Harlow whispered, eyes welling up with tears. "Linds, I'm ... I'm so sorry, I - "

But before she could finish, Lindsey had turned on her heel and disappeared through the adjacent swinging doors. A flash of hair, and she was gone. Harlow stood motionless in the center of the hallway, staring blankly at the spot Lindsey had only seconds ago stood.

I glanced at Emma, who's face was white as snow, and gave a curt little nod. Stepping around her, I made my way very slowly and very cautiously towards Lo.

She didn't seem to notice at first, but when I was within a few feet of her, she peered up and looked me dead in the face. The misery, the guilt, the tears, had vanished. There was something strange marring that beautiful face now, a certain haze I couldn't quite figure out. Nor one I'd ever seen on Harlow's face before. It wasn't sadness, or anger .. it was something else.

But it was gone before I could place it.

With a sigh, Harlow gave me a little nod and hitched her bag higher up on her shoulder.

"It's not your fault, Harlow," I said softly. "No one blames you for not being able to, y'know ... see. See her, I mean."

She nodded, and gave a small sigh. "It doesn't matter. _I _blame me. What good is being a freakish outcast if you can't even make use of it when you need to, right?"

With a lopsided, humorless grin, she turned from me and walked quickly and noiselessly away from her spot in the hall. The guilt I probably should've felt at the innocent comment would come later -

for now, all I could focus on was that last malevolent glint in the reflection of her eyes as she had turned to walk away.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HIHIHIHI! I told you I'd be back!

Exams are over, I am off of school for the next month, I feel great, I feel cheerful (in spite of this chapter) and I am ready to write like nobody's business!

I apologize that the first chapter after 7 months is so dull and miserable, but I left at a bit of a cliffhanger and I couldn't just move on quickly from it ... I also think this was an important chapter to include, because although it might not be an obvious theme, death is a really big part of this story. Or any story, really. Personally, I've lost a grandma, a grandpa and a friend, all from different things, but I know that regardless of the way or the time or the age when they did go on, I always felt the same kind of feelings. Hopelessness and confusion were the main ones. So to humanize the characters, add a bit more sad to an already angsty story, I felt this chapter was super important to include. Although I don't wish any of you have felt this way before, I hope at least some of you can find bits of this relatable, whether or not someone you love has died, a friend has become an enemy, a pet's been lost, etc. Although death/loss is a natural progression in life, it still sucks, and I hope this chapter gives a respectable and accurate representation of what death and loss feel like to the majority of us.

And on another side note, just because I feel like it should really be included and I'm in a preachy mood and feeling unusually sad for Kimmy the fictional asian: please please, **never** ever drink and drive. It's a selfish act that can ultimately ruin more than just your own life, and it's never worth the risks.

_*steps off soapbox*_

On a brighter note, Mr. Buell shall be back next chapter, as will the rest of the gang, and for a brief couple of moments, we'll return to some sort of semblance of happy before everything comes crashing down at our feet, sound good? (Well no, but I made no promises this was going to be a happy ride)

SO much love to all the wonderful people who read, review and enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it! See you soon!

**love; **_ellah!_


	29. Vaginer Is A Noun, Look It Up!

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Vaginer Is A Noun, Look It Up!

**(Ryan)**

"Coffee with three sugars and a bit of milk, and two pieces of the toast for the lovely lady who needs to learn to eat again."

Harlow rolled her eyes, propping herself up against the puffy pillows in my bed. Self-consciously, she pulled the duvet up to her belly button, reaching out gingerly with those small, delicate hands to take the steaming mug of coffee. She gave it a little sniff and smiled.

"Perfect," she said softly, scootching over a little to give me my spot back on the bed. "Thank you."

I smiled, propping myself up next to her, her warm body resting against my arm. I held out the plate piled with toast, waving it seductively under that little button nose.

"And toast!" I said enthusiastically. "Fresh from the toaster. And I used butter, not margarine - because I'm legit."

She chuckled, but didn't take a piece. "I'm not very hungry, but I might nibble at it later. You eat some."

I rolled my eyes and set the plate down on the bedside table. I wrapped an arm around her, noting worriedly the sharp edge of bone slightly rigid along her shoulder blades. She rested a warm cheek against my bare arm, took a small sip of coffee.

"You've got to eat something, Lo," I said evenly. "You've barely eaten in a week, and you've got a game tonight. You need your energy."

She motioned to her mug. "From what I hear, coffee's a great source of energy."

"You know that's not the kind of energy that's going to win you a game."

She nodded, taking another small sip. "I know."

"We can go out for lunch somewhere, if you'd like," I offered. "You choose, no matter how fancy or far away."

She smiled, nuzzling her cheek affectionately against my arm. "We'll see. I don't know many good restaurants, that's why we always let _you_ pick."

"Today can be opposite day!"

"I'd prefer samesies day."

"You're really no fun."

She laughed, taking one more sip of coffee before dissolving into silence.

It'd been almost two weeks since we'd all heard the news - Kimmy had died. Hit by a drunk driver while coming home from the bar. She was twenty five.

Myself and the team, naturally, had all been horrifically upset. We didn't know the girls from the volleyball team very well, but we'd all known Kimmy. Outgoing, exceptionally funny, sweet, kind, inviting. She'd never made us feel unwelcome or uncomfortable. Whenever we'd go see a game she'd wave and chat with us every chance she had. She was remarkably friendly, unquestionably warm-hearted. A person we'd been lucky to spend time with, as little time as it had been.

Harlow and the rest of the volleyball team had been devastated. Beyond that, really - shattered. Completely, utterly heartbroken, equally anguished and shocked. It was a loss for this world, for this University, for her family - but for the girls, it was more than that. It was like the light they'd all been illuminated with had been smashed beyond repair. The fight, the Team versus Team, there was none of that anymore. No one had the will to argue, to wage wars. No one had the energy to be angry, to care. To be anything less than floored by the unfathomable loss.

Harlow had taken it as badly, or perhaps worse, than the rest of the team. She'd stayed in bed for three days after the call had come. Sobbed, slept, sniffled. She lay practically comatose for 72 hours. Not a sip of water, a morsel of bread, a quick shower, a trip to the toilet. It was like walking in to a dead body sprawled in her bed every afternoon. She didn't move, didn't talk. She simply stared into space, hour after hour, and cried.

After the funeral, five days after the accident, Harlow returned - slightly - to her daily routine. She woke up on the sixth day, she showered, she put on clothes, put on makeup. She cleaned the house, collected the laundry. Checked her emails, returned phone calls. She even made it to her afternoon classes. But she did all of these activities in a perfunctory way. She did them because it was something to do, not because she wanted to or knew that it needed to be done. When she arrived back to her apartment that evening - where I had been making dinner - she thanked me politely, ate a few mouthfuls of stir fry, and returned to her Psychology assignment. Besides those few bites, a piece of toast, a granola bar and an apple, I hadn't seen her eat in nearly two weeks. I'd barely seen her consume enough water to keep her system running properly. And I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her smile - properly, that is. Smile because she felt like it, not because it was an appropriate response.

The last few days, she'd returned almost back to normal, minus the smiling and eating. She was attending class again, doing daily household chores, muttering furiously under her breath at the thirty page booklet on operant conditioning. She took careful consideration into what she wore, meticulously applied her makeup and did her hair. Went shopping for groceries (that remained untouched) and spent the normal twenty hours a week in the library. She held conversations now, listened without a blank stare, expressed interest once again in stories and daily happenings in people's lives.

Yesterday evening, I'd even seen her laugh when Heather put down "vaginer" in Scrabble (much to the irritation of Tad, we refused the word - "Vaginer! It's a noun, assholes! Look it up, **look it up**!").

But she still wasn't herself. She still seemed stuck in a funk that couldn't be eradicated. She'd had little contact with the other girls on the volleyball team, and had holed up in the library or at home at every possible opportunity. She'd even taken the news that their volleyball match against California had been postponed to the following week with legitimate indifference. And she was thin, much too thin. Her already petite frame was shrinking, and her eyes seemed bigger from the amount of weight she'd lost in her face.

Taking another slow sip of the steaming brew, she shook her hair from her eyes and rested a hand on my thigh (which, may I add, I had become accustomed to and was now able to prohibit myself from shitting over).

"Are you coming to the game tonight?" she asked softly, moony eyes looking carefully up at me.

I nodded. "Of course I am. Is .. is the whole team going to be there?"

She frowned a little, plush lips downturned in a devastatingly sweet pout. "I'm not sure. We .. we gave them the option."

"To show up?"

She nodded, pulling her knees up to her chin. "Yeah. Remember we met up for a meeting a couple of days ago?"

I nodded, remembering very well how anxious she'd been about it. "I do. They all showed up for that?"

"Yes," she said, gnawing on her bottom lip subconsciously. "When we had all arrived, we - Sophie and I - basically told the girls that it was completely their choice to show up to the match. We told them we understand how .. hard, it was. And we had no expectations for their attendance. We didn't care if we had to forfeit, that wasn't what was important."

"And how did they respond?" I asked.

"They didn't, really," she said simply. "We didn't expect them to. We didn't get them together to talk about how much life sucked at the moment, we just wanted to let them know that they had options. And we weren't going to be angry if they chose not to show up."

"So then, tonight," I said slowly. "It might not .. even happen?"

"It'll happen," she said with a nod. "There will be a game. The California Lions will be there, and Sophie and I have both decided we will too. If we have four girls show up, we'll play with the ones we do. And if less than four, or none, show up - then we'll forfeit."

"Do you want to have to forfeit?" I asked.

"I didn't want any of this," she said quietly. "But if bowing out of the tournament is the only option .. then it's the appropriate one, for the situation we're in."

"That's really big of you," I said softly.

She shrugged. "I was going to cancel the matches completely. Sophie talked me out of it, said we should at least give everyone the option."

Perhaps the one good thing, the only silver lining that had come out of this, was that Sophie and Harlow were once again on speaking terms. Not best friends, not like they were. But they had put their differences aside, joined forces as the mediators between the rest of the team. They didn't call each other multiple times a day just to chat, but they were civil and worked together nearly as well as they'd used to. No word of Harlow's abilities had been brought up, and no spiteful reminders of Sophie's bad attitude had been mentioned. They maintained civility at all times, more to alleviate the girls of any more unneeded stress than because they wanted to. But it was a start, and it was a positive effect in a shitstorm of negative.

"Wise decision on both your parts, I'd say."

She smiled, another fake one, but it seemed less phony than the ones that had preceded it.

"That remains to be seen."

**(Katrina)**

"How's she doing?"

Ryan plopped down in the chair adjacent to me, and gave a tired sigh.

"Better, much better than she has been," he said. "Still not eating, but she looks a lot more ... _alive_, I suppose."

"Well that's good, I guess," Eilfie said softly, warm mug of tea between her hands. "Did she go back to bed?"

He shook his head. "Changing, she'll be down in a minute."

The toll Kimmy's death had taken on Harlow was shocking - but the toll Harlow's misery had taken on Ryan was almost as bad. He looked nearly as exhausted as she did. Purplish bags had formed under his eyes, and his skin had paled considerably from the light brown it normally was. The burden of having a nearly comatose girlfriend was clearly tuckering him out.

Myself, Sergey, Eilfie and Ryan were sitting in Serge and Ryan's living room on this beautiful April morning, preparing to sit down and look through the latest case. Heather and Josh, late as always, were due to arrive any minute.

"Is Harlow staying for the briefing?" Sergey asked, in an air of badly feigned nonchalance.

"I don't think so," Ryan said thoughtfully. "She's going to go home and do some last minute studying before the game tonight."

"So it's still happening?" Eilfie asked with interest. "In light of ... everything?"

Ryan frowned, running a hand through his hair in a very Harlow-ish manner. "It's a long story. I'll explain later."

His explanation was understood, as we heard the top of the stairs creek and saw Harlow make her way down the flight. Her hair had been pulled back in a limp ponytail, empty mug swinging from her fingers. She reached the bottom and gave us all a weak smile.

"Early morning party and I wasn't invited," she said rather chipperly, leaning against the door frame. "How rude."

"Hardly a party," Elf laughed. "Work, boring case debriefing - no offense, Boss."

Ryan grinned in amusement, but said nothing.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" Harlow asked, looking over her shoulder for Josh and Tad.

"Coming," I said with a sigh. "Late, as always."

Harlow smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. I was surprised at how different she looked - and I could tell Sergey and Elf felt it too. Always thin, Harlow seemed to have wasted away even more since the last time I'd seen her. Her sleek body seemed more bony than fit now, and her face had a distinctly malnourished look about it. Her skin was tinged, a slight yellow, and her eyes protruded in a subtle manner from the fat she'd lost in her cheeks.

But there was still that air of beauty about her, something so beyond perfection it was hard to pinpoint. Even in the wake of rapid weight loss, lack of sleep and mild depression, there was still a sparkle to her skin, a strange but brilliant skip in her step, and a slightly fizzled although still remarkably beautiful glow that seemed to radiate from within her. And those eyes - regardless of the way they now sat slightly hollowed in their sockets, they still shone brighter than the sun, the shade of green specific to her and her alone.

"I wish I could stick around and see them," she said apologetically. "I've got to run, though. It's about time I do exam prep, since y'know - they're literally a week away."

"You're always more than ready for them," Ryan said with a laugh, pulling himself up and out of the chair. "Sophie said you panic the week before, but you never get less than an A."

"Less than an A+, actually," she said with a smirk. "I'd be devastated with an A ... I'd lose all my scholarships."

Ryan rolled his eyes, slipping her jacket off the hook and handing it to her. "My apologies, an A _plus_. Very impressive."

She smiled, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and turned to the rest of us.

"I'll see you all later," she said, with a little wave.

"We'll be at the game tonight," I reminded her, motioning to Elf and Serge. "We haven't missed a game since the first one!"

She smiled. "Which is so wonderful, thanks for all your support. Hopefully we actually get a chance to play tonight ... see you!"

And she had dashed out the door in less than a blink of an eye.

Elf and I exchanged curious glances. "What does she mean if they actually get to play tonight?"

Ryan closed the front door with a quiet snap, and returned to his chair. He sunk into it with quiet exhaustion, and sighed.

"She means if anyone shows up."

**(Harlow)**

"I'm not a doctor, but you know ... you should probably eat something. You're bones."

I grimaced slightly, well aware of how I must look to the people around me. "I know. I just .. haven't been hungry."

"Can't blame you, really," Sophie said quietly from her perch on the bench. "I don't feel like doing much of anything, lately."

I nodded, but wasn't sure of what else to say, so I stayed silent ... something I'd found myself doing a lot lately. It's strange .. the moments you find yourself with the most to say, words always seem to fail you. I've never had more that I wanted to say or knew I should, but I was unable to find the correct way to say it. Or rather, it was unwilling to come out.

Sophie, it seemed, was in the same situation as me. A girl you rarely were able to shut up could no longer find a thing to talk about. Nevermind the fact that it was still awkward between the two of us .. but now, when there was so much to say, so much to discuss, so many things to clear the air about ... we came up blank.

Sophie'd managed to change into her volleyball uniform, but I was still in jeans and a sweatshirt. I was holding up little hope that tonight would be a success ... even if enough girls managed to show up, what were our odds of winning the game? The California team, from what I'd heard, was brilliant. A truly talented group of girls picked purely on athleticism and skill, not just chicks who looked good in short shorts.

"No offense," Sophie said, making another attempt at conversation. "But that psychologist ... what a quack."

I smiled, something I felt like I hadn't done in years, and nodded. "I've definitely seen better. I found her obnoxious."

"You're putting it politely," Sophie muttered, lacing up her sneakers. "Obnoxious was mild compared to what I was going to say."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, smiling legitimately for the first time in days. "What were you going to say?"

Soph rolled her eyes. "Please, Harlow. This is a sacred change room, these walls have housed champions of all sports. I hardly think the things I was about to say are appropriate for these blessed walls to have to endure."

I laughed, another thing I hadn't done in a long time. It felt strange, like my cheeks were straining to make it work properly.

Sophie smiled, and peered at the door to the change rooms. "What do you think?"

"What do I think you were going to say?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. The girls. What do you think, do you think anyone's going to show?"

I frowned, something that felt a little more natural, and shrugged my shoulders. "I honestly can't say. If I wasn't Captain, if I didn't _have_ to be here ... I don't know if I'd bother. Personally."

"I would've come regardless," Sophie said quietly. "What good is it, to sit around and mope. I've done enough of that for a lifetime these last two weeks. This is home."

I nodded, slightly comforted by her words. She was right, as she often was. What would I have been doing tonight, if I **hadn't** shown up? I'd probably be sitting on my couch. Watching TV. But not really watching, more just staring at the screen. I'd probably have gone to bed by eight. Felt sorry for myself. Made everyone else around me, who loved me and wanted me to feel better, miserable. I suppose, for Sophie and I at least, this was really the only place we could've been tonight.

"That's true," I said. "But that being said, I won't be angry if - "

The change room door gave a soft squeak, before opening to reveal three girls standing in the doorway: Mickenzie, Natalie and Emma. They looked warily between the two of us, and made their way into the room in awkward silence. Emma plopped down on the bench next to me, while and Nat and Kenzie stood uncomfortably around Sophie. All three of them were in their uniforms.

"You know you're not allowed to wear jeans, Harlow," Emma said, turning her nose haughtily up at me. "Especially those ones. I thought flares went out like, ten years ago."

"They're not flare," I said defensively. "They're boot cut."

"You're full of it," she said, slight smile lighting up her pale face. "Stand up. Let me see the butt. If I see acid wash, you're off of this team."

We both grinned, and I felt and heard laughs I never thought I'd hear again. Mickenzie giggled behind Soph, who was grinning. Natalie stood beside them all, that same dim glaze washed over her face. I couldn't believe it - I was even happy to see that dull, listless face. Well there we go ... five of us. That was five more than I thought would make it down today.

"Harlow," Mickenzie said, after the laughter had faltered. "Listen, I just .. I wanted to apologize."

"There's really no need," I said, with complete honesty. "Really. After everything that's happened these last few days ... we'll start again. All of us. From scratch."

She nodded, looking oddly teary, but plopped down on the bench and began re-tieing her shoes before I could really see what was going on.

The door to the change room opened once again, and two more figures walked in - Jenn and Ainslee. Ainslee's white blonde hair looked lank around her face, it's limp matching her morose face. She eyed the rest of us in the change room, gave a curt nod, and disappeared into the bathroom. Jenn watched her go, turned to the rest of us, and proceeded to flip Emma off.

"Did you not notice me driving erratically behind you half the way here, blaring my horn and flailing my arms out the window?" she asked, looking quite offended. "I was trying to say hello!"

"Oh God, that was you?" Emma said with sincere surprise. "God, I thought you were a fucking maniac!"

"Is that why you took every God damn sidestreet possible?" Jenn asked, plunking down on the floor next to Kenzie and Soph.

" ... Perhaps," Emma said, cheeky grin lighting up her face.

Jenn rolled her eyes, pulling dirty white runners from out of her gym bag. "Well God damn, Emma, next time slow the fuck down when you see a maniac flailing in the drivers seat, if you don't mind."

"Unfortunately, I don't think I will," Em said snidely, grinning at Jenn with that wonderful air of innocence.

"Even if we saw that it was you flailing, Jenn," Ainslee said, closing the bathroom door with a snap behind her. "I don't think any of us would stop or slow down ... you know Psychopathic killers often prey on people they know? I'd think twice before slowing down to say hello to you on the road ... underneath that petite little ass, there might be a 6 inch blade."

"If you hadn't been on my 'To Kill' list before, you most certainly are now," Jenn sniffed, but gave her a little wink. Ainslee returned the wink with a small smile, sitting down on the floor next to Jenn.

Once more, the change room door swung open, and Jess, Ashlee and Meagan came hurrying through, half in their uniforms and half struggling to get the rest of it on.

"Are we late?" Ashlee asked, distinctly out of breath. "I swear to God, those bus drivers have nothing better to do than idle at every fucking traffic light ... "

"Seriously," muttered Meagan, her head half stuck in the armhole of her jersey. "The light was green. It was green! If you're color blind, there are legit other fucking job opportunities for you out there, besides being a bus driver. How are you supposed to _fucking_ drive a bus when every single light on the thing looks blue to you?"

"At least you didn't have to sit beside an old man who smelt like urine and peppermints," Jess said, her voice always so soft, but with an uncharacteristic tinge of irritation this time. "I don't understand .. hygiene, it's just common courtesy, isn't it? If you don't want to shower, fine, but don't take public transit ... "

"And that old bitch, she took up two whole spots! Your friggin' purse doesn't need a seat, it doesn't have feelings, it doesn't have an ass!"

"Why do you need to talk so loudly on your cellphone? Do we really care who you're talking to, what party you're going to, what your boyfriend did the other night that like, thuuuuper pithed you awf?"

"Who pees themselves and then tries to hide it with a peppermint candy, seriously? Do you think I'm not going to notice you smell like fecal matter because you popped three mints you stole from a restaurant into your mouth? Because I'm going to notice. I _did_ notice. You smell like pissy Excel gum."

"Also, why the hell do people in wheelchairs take a bus? Is that not what Handi-Transit is for? I'm sorry, am I being rude? Because what I think is rude is having your feet run over by a 400 pound man in a wheelchair that forgot to turn his God damn brakes on!"

"And why do bus drivers only drive fast when you're about to hit a speed bump and go flying across the bus? Has anyone else noticed that? They're going like 20 clicks, they see a speed bump, they step on it so we have to hit a bump at 60! I nearly faceplanted!"

"Do I smell like pee? I swear, I feel like I smell like pee - his pee rubbed off on me, I smell like old man urine! Be honest, do you smell it? Jenn, can you smell it?"

With the arrival of the last three, the change room was set into a whirlwind of bitchy banter, cheerful albeit slightly forced laughter, and long yells of frustrated conversation. Sophie and I, who'd remained silent on the benches for the last ten minutes, stared at each other in disbelief. They were here ... almost every single girl, they'd made it. Life was going on .. they were letting it go on. The bruised bags underneath all of our eyes and the pale, pinched complexions were tell tale signs that we _hadn't, _in fact, been okay. But we'd put that aside. We were all here. Except ...

"Where's Lindsey?" Emma said quietly from beside me.

I peered around, looked at all the familiar faces - but saw that besides the obvious missing one, there was another that hadn't made an appearance.

"I don't know," I said softly. "But .. I understand."

**(Eilfie)**

"I count ten," Heather said, standing up on her chair and not so subtly counting the heads of the players below us. "There should be eleven, shouldn't there?"

Without Kimmy, yes, there should've been. But I did a quick double count, and realized that Heather was right. There were ten girls down there - someone was missing.

"Frankly, I can't believe this many showed up," Ryan said, looking worriedly down at the back of Harlow's head. "She didn't think there'd be more than two."

"There's a lot more than two," Serge noted. "Considering the odds weren't in their favor ... impressive."

The gymnasium was unusually quiet today. Not silent, there were soft murmurs from here and there. But there was no raucous cheering, no chanting, no yelling. Everything seemed sedated, more quiet than a gym should ever be. The team opposite ours, the California Lions, they looked on at the crowd warily. I'm sure they'd been informed of what had happened, and although probably sympathetic, they were probably desperately hopeful that the opposing team would have canceled. Apparently, no such luck.

Below us, sitting on the benches, was the Penn State team. Looking impressively less than miserable, they were all listening with rapt attention to Sophie. Harlow stood beside her in polite silence, wrapped tightly in a sweater two sizes too big.

"I wonder who's missing," Ryan said thoughtfully, trying to account for all the girls he'd met.

"Lindsey," Heather said distractedly, eyeing the Cali team with brutal disdain. "The Spanish one. She was best friends with Kimmy."

_Lindsey._

Ryan and I exchanged glances, before looking back down at the team. Heather was right - Lindsey, the tall Spanish girl with the brilliant smile - she was missing. And we clearly weren't the only ones who had noticed. Harlow was looking distinctly concerned beneath her folds of pale green sweater, eyes darting every few seconds to the door. Lindsey, Harlow, Kimmy and Sophie - they were the ones that had always been inseparable.

"Still," Josh said, with forced optimism. "Ten out of eleven. Those aren't odds to shake your head at?"

"Eleven," Heather said suddenly, sitting upright and staring at the gymnasium doors. "Eleven. She's here."

The entire team, along with half the gym, turned their heads to the giant gym doors. A petite girl, even more frail and thin looking than Harlow, had stepped through them and was making her way to the cluster of Penn State girls below. Her legs were like twigs, the shorts at least three sizes too big. Her face was hollowed, but oddly swollen. Her whole demeanor had changed - I hardly recognized her.

Lindsey looked worse than I'd ever seen her, hunched and frail, arms swinging lifelessly by her sides. She didn't look into the crowds - she looked miserably at the team. They had all noticed by now, half staring at her newly gaunt figure, the other half pretending not to notice. Harlow was watching her cautiously, timidly - almost fearfully.

Lindsey came closer to the team, and her hollowed eyes met a nearly equally hollowed set. Harlow's. She came to a stop before Lo, gave a shy nod, and dropped her gym bag resolutely on the ground. Harlow gave a small smile, reached a hand out to pat her on the shoulder.

"There they all are," Kat said softly. "Well .. you know."

A small man had made his way over the sportscaster box, motioned for one of the announcers to begin. The announcer, a small man with clipped grey hair, gave a nod.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, voice more solemn than usual. "Please stand."

Again, Ryan and I exchanged quick and panicked glances, but rose to our feet along with everyone else. Harlow, I noticed, was staring with hard anger at the announcer - Sophie was the opposite. She looked with panic at the man's morose face, hands twisted anxiously in a knot in front of her stomach.

"Before the Penn State Nittany Lions take on the California Lions tonight, we ask for everyone's cooperation. Two weeks ago, the Penn State family lost a dear friend and fellow student at the hands of a tragic accident. Kimberley Morris, number eight on Penn State, was a hard-working, fun-loving and truly warm hearted young woman. Enrolled in pre-Med, she was involved in numerous extra curricular activities and had one of the most coveted spots on the Dean's Honor List. It is with great sadness today, that we bow our heads in silence in honor of the beautiful woman that was taken so cruelly from our lives. For number eight, Miss Kimberley Morris."

All around us, heads were bowed, and a silence consumed the entire gymnasium. Soft sobs could be heard from different parts of the room, but to pinpoint where they were coming from would've been impossible. I peeked below at the team, the majority of the girls standing on the court with their heads bowed. A little further back was Lindsey, her thin frame easily distinguishable from the rest of the girls. And behind her yet, barely in view - Harlow and Sophie.

But neither of their heads were bowed in silence - they were both staring straight ahead, at the frail pile of bones they'd both remembered as Lindsey.

I frowned, peeking at Ryan.

He too, was staring at the both of them, head slightly bowed, brow furrowed and eyes unblinking.

What were they staring at?

**(Sophie)**

It really couldn't possibly be.

There was no way, really. No possible way.

My eyes had to be deceiving me.

I batted at them with a closed fist, trying to brush away the tears I swear had to be there - but weren't. I blinked once, twice, fanatically twelve times in a row.

But still -

there she was.

In front of me, Lindsay stood silently, head bowed and hands clasped in front her. She was shivering slightly, but besides slight tremors I could detect no movement. It was what - or rather _who_ - was to the left of her that had me completely stumped.

She looked like she always had. Maybe a bit paler, less ... solid. But she was there. Her short, petite frame. Black hair like a shining curtain down her back, skin pale but oddly glimmering. Her hand - still the tiny, delicate little one I remembered so vividly - was placed on Lindsey's frail left shoulder. There as no light around her. She wasn't see through. She was just simply ... _there_.

Kimmy.

I couldn't blink. Not anymore. I tried to turn, to look away - but my head wouldn't cooperate. I tried to say something, to talk - but I couldn't, I had no voice. I just stared.

And finally -

she turned.

She looked the same as always. Every detail about her face, I remembered. I saw those almond eyes, with premature wrinkles around the corners because of her constant cheer. I saw the smooth nose, the clean face. The smile, the one I'd always envied, that reached all the way up to her eyes. The face, her face, perfection and unchanged. Untarnished by whatever had happened to her that night. Still whole and untouched, still the face I loved, the face I swore that evening I'd never forget, never.

She was there.

Her hand still perched casually on Lindsey's shoulder, she gave a slight nod of her head and waved cheerfully with her free hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harlow's left hand move slightly, up a little, barely detectable, and give a small, two-fingered wave in Lindsey's general direction.

I managed, by some grace of God, to move my head slightly, look at the bleachers behind me. Everyone remained standing, heads bowed - no one saw it. Her. No one. I peered over to my left, and saw the most peculiar look on Harlow's face.

Pain, like there had been these last few weeks. Misery, that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her eyes. But she was smiling. Not a grin, not a full ear to ear beam. But a small smile. A resolute smile. A smile that didn't say '_Oh, I'm so happy to see you!'. _It was more a smile you see at an airport. One still clearly visible under tears. One that said, very plainly, _Goodbye._

I don't know when it started, no less how, but I felt hot tears spilling down my cheeks. I looked away from Harlow, back at the spot to Lindsey's left. She was still there. Paler, less solid than before, and continually fading right before my eyes - but she was still there.

I couldn't blink - I was scared to. What if I blinked and she disappeared? I couldn't lose her again, not again ...

But she was looking at me now. Kimmy. Kimmy was looking at me. She smiled, bigger yet, and gave another small wave. Her legs were nearly gone, fading completely into the background. Her torso was evaporating, arms slowly disintegrating before my eyes. Her face, her head - I could see right through it to the other wall. And right before she popped out of view, the second before she became nothing, I heard her voice. Still soft as silk, cheerful as it ever had been. I swore I'd never forget it, promised I'd never lose it. Those last words.

"Live and let live."

And she was gone.

I blinked, so many times I swear my eyeballs should've fallen out - but I didn't see her again. Not once. Not even a glimmer, not an outline, nothing. She was gone, as quickly as she'd come, she'd left once more.

I turned slightly, looked over at the spot on my left, and saw Harlow looking fixedly at me, face gaunt but jaw squared, eyes betraying no hint of welling, just serious and equally desperate.

"You see?" she said, so quietly I barely heard her.

I nodded, still unable to find my voice. Tears splashed down my front, but I barely noticed.

Harlow smiled, this time a happy one, a content one, a relieved one.

"I told you, Soph," she whispered, eyes now welling up. "I never would've lied to you."

"I'm sorry," I squeaked.

She smiled, bigger still, and grasped my hand firmly in her own.

"It's okay. It'll be okay."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

MERRY CHRISTMAS. HAPPY HANNUKAH. YAY KWANZA! And to all the other wonderful holiday things you people may or may not celebrate, happy hoildays!

Back with a chapter, going to try and do two or three more before I gotta go back to school! THINGS ARE RESOLVED, EVERYONE. Sophie and Harlow are friends again, we have some comfort in the knowledge that Kimmy is safe and okay! The team is back together! Ryan and Harlow are still together! We must all join hands now and sing and dance and squeal and hug and be the very best of jolly friends!

... Except I'm about to crank my angst and misery button to like 8000.

FOOOOOOLED YOU.

My thank yous!

**akahitoha:** my love! how i have missed you so terribly! it's wonderful to be back, more importantly, more wonderful to know you're alive and well, because my broken heart has mended once more! thank you for the review, much love and suffocatingly tight hugs!

**heyymelx3:** MELLLLLL my buell-watch buddy! how are you, wonderful? how is school, how is life, how are you? i'm so sorry to hear about your grandpa :( mine passed away over a decade ago, and my nanny a little over 3 years ago, and it's still tought to think about ... lots of love, bud, thanks for the review!

**xForevermore: **you're brilliant, new reviewer! welcome to my story, please stay forever and thanks a million for the review :)

**haha95: **THANK YOU DARLING! luckily it's mega long, so you have a lot of reading to do to bide your time as i update slower than molasses. i adore you, thanks so so so much for the review!

WELL, I am back! i didn't lie, see? i really did review ... true to my word! on to the next chapter, see you lovely readers very very soon, and thanks again, so much, to every single one of you who reads, reviews and enjoys the story! you make writing it worth while :)

**love; **_ellah!_


	30. That One Time I Fought A Bear So Legit

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

That One Time, I Fought A Bear - So Legit

**Four Months Later**

**(Ryan)**

"You remind me exactly of Xander - cute and all, but you should probably stay **in** the vehicle, Lo."

She laughed gleefully, sticking her head even further out the passenger's side window. Her long auburn hair blew wildly behind her, eyes crinkled in joy at the wind rushing across her face - I guess it wasn't exactly fair to compare her to my dog. Xander could never look so glamorously windswept, not like Harlow, anyways. She popped her head back into the vehicle, stretching her legs out in front of her and raking her small hands through her tangled mess of hair.

"You're no fun," she said, with a sly grin. "Xander knows where it's at!"

"Until a stray piece of gravel from the road shoots up and swipes him across the face," I said, rolling my eyes.

She grinned even wider, leaning across her seat to give me a light peck on the ear. "C'mon. That'd be pretty cool actually - I'd look so badass with a scar straight across my cheek!"

"Until you had to tell people it was from sticking your head out a speeding car's window and getting hit in the face with a rock," I joked.

"Well we'd leave that part out," she said simply. "We'll pretend like .. I fought a bear."

"And all you got was a smooth scar across your cheek?"

"Legit, right?"

"So legit."

She laughed, stretching her arms back behind her head and yawning. "All the more reason to get hit with flying stones."

I smiled, making a slow right turn onto the adjoining highway. On this humid August afternoon, Lo and I found ourselves driving down a smooth, South Carolina road, just a few minutes outside of the lovely town of Chaplin. We'd just wrapped up a four day investigation in a quaint little cottage-esque home in the heart of the city, and were heading back up to Pennsylvania to spend the last two weeks of holidays holed up in her apartment.

Which really, is where we'd spent the majority of our Summer already.

After Harlow and her team had destroyed the California Lions 20 to 3, the general morale of the team had been lifted. Although the win had been slightly ironic in their two weeks of loss and misery, the happiness and renewed sense of cheer had spread through all of them. On to the national championships along with twelve other teams across the country, the team had found the confidence and the excitement once more that they had lost and were sure they'd never get back again after Kimmy's death.

Harlow had come back from her three week semi-coma a week or two after the game. She passed all her exams with the usual high 90's, continuing her four year streak of scholarship wins that would put her financially through her last year of school. Back from her stint at rock bottom, she slowly started to laugh again, cheerfully and with sincerity, and her smile began to come easily, appearing _without_ uncertainty and hesitation. She had learned, or rather _re-_learned, how to find happiness in life, and lived everyday once more with the cheer and enthusiasm I had originally fallen in love with.

The Summer had been one of the best I'd ever had. Nearly everyday was spent with Harlow by my side, every case we'd come across had gone smoothly and Paranormal State was doing better than ever. Most days were spent in my backyard, soaking up the beautiful sun of Pennsylvania, while most evenings were spent in Harlow's cozy apartment, snuggled up on the couch watching television (and when we weren't watching TV? Well ... yooou know, winky dinky super wink). Every day seemed brighter, happier than the last, and it was with a heavy heart that I realized there were less than two weeks before school and the general slum of fall came creeping back into our lives.

Harlow, however, didn't seem to notice.

Hand hanging out the window, tapping the side of the car, she was humming a cheerful tune and tapping her foot in time with her song against the dashboard. Those brilliant eyes were covered by oversized sunglasses, and her thick hair was blowing lightly over her shoulders. My heart skipped a beat just glancing at her. She peered over at me, mouth still turned up in her now permanent smile.

"Is it funny, being back in South Carolina?" she asked.

I smiled. "Naw, not at all. Truly, it was a wonderful place to grow up in. Beautiful. But I sure as _hell_ didn't miss this heat."

She laughed, crossing her feet casually on the dashboard. "I lived here twice in my life, once with my family for about seven months, the other just for three months with a Foster family. And both times, what I remember most was the horrific Summer humidity."

"I forgot you lived in SC," I said, feeling slightly guilty. "Whereabouts again?"

"That's alright," she said chipperly, giving my hand a soft pat. "With the Foster family, I lived in Mount Pleasant, quite the ironic name for such a hellish city. But with my family, we lived in Newberry. Quiet little town, only about ten thousand people. But it was lovely."

"Newberry," I repeated, frowning slightly. "That's just up here a ways, isn't it?"

She peered out her window, clearly looking for any distinct signs acknowledging how close we were to her old stomping grounds. "Is it?"

"I'm positive," I said, squinting closely at an upcoming sign. "My stepdad lived in Greenville for a while and when we'd drive up from Sumter to go and visit him, we'd always pass right through Newberry and get there less than thirty minutes later. We'll be heading right through Greenville, so Newberry should be up along here."

She frowned a little, still peering out the window. "How strange ... I didn't even think of it being on the way home. Ooh .. oh look, you're right! Newberry, six miles. First right after the Boon dairy farm."

I looked quickly at the sign as we passed, and looked ahead to see if I could spot any sign of the dairy farm. "Just a little ways up ... what do you say? Wanna stop in for a bit?"

She frowned, deeper yet, looking genuinely perplexed. "I .. I don't know. I haven't been back there in almost twenty years, not since Brody died."

"We don't have to," I said quickly, trying to avoid the awkward situation we were fast heading into. "Just a thought, since we were passing by."

"No no, it's alright," she said, perking up a bit in her chair. "It'll be an adventure ... going back there. Walk down memory lane."

"You're sure?" I asked. "I don't want to bring back any bad memories ... "

"No, I'm sure," she answered reassuringly, giving my arm a light squeeze. "The house has bad memories, but the town was lovely. Really. I remember wonderful things about the people, and the little shops. Main street was so wonderful, like a scene out of a movie. I'd love to see what it looks like now. How it's changed, if it has at all."

I smiled, and nodded towards the upcoming sign on her side. "How far away are we?"

She squinted at the sign, hand still hanging casually out the window. "Five miles."

"Send Elf a text, if you don't mind," I said. "Tell her we have a change of plans - we're road trippin'."

She grinned. "More of a fun little detour, this is hardly a roadtrip."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, go stick your head out the window, why don'tcha."

**(Eilfie)**

"They're making a detour."

Sergey glanced in the rearview mirror back at me, and Katrina laughed in the front seat.

"Should've known," she muttered with a small smile. "The lovebirds are going on their honeymoon."

I smiled. "They're going to Newberry. Harlow said she used to live there, they're just going for a quick visit and will head back on the road again in an hour or so."

"And they said they were desperate to get home," Serge said, rolling his eyes.

"Well _**I**_ think it's romantic," Tad huffed from beside me. "They're gonna have so much fun ... they're gonna hold hands, and get ice cream, and walk around, and wave cheerfully to the locals. Maybe they'll go to a carnival and take funny pictures. Maybe Ryan will win her an overstuffed teddy bear. Maybe they'll get hitched in a little white chapel. Maybe they'll be so happy, they'll never come home ... "

"Seriously, Heather," Katrina sighed. "You're so bizarre."

"We just spent over 72 hours in a haunted house, and _I'm_ bizarre?"

"Yes," the three of us agreed in unison.

"Hmph," Tad muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "You're all a bunch of asshats."

I smiled, but my mind wandered to Ryan and Harlow. What a lovely idea, going to visit Harlow's old town. I'd always admired the way their relationship worked. It was spontaneous, but fair. Ryan would surprise Harlow with homemade sushi one night (which he learned to roll all by himself), and Harlow would surprise him a day later with a Star Wars movie night party (complete with Yoda and Chewbacca handmade cookies). Everything was even, they were equal to the umpteenth degree. But it was more than just that.

They simply, truly, earnestly adored each other. You could just tell. Harlow loved him, more than I think I'd ever seen anyone love another person or another thing. When he spoke, she looked at him with pure adoration and happiness. She laughed when he joked, smiled when he reminised, frowned when he recounted a sad moment, grimaced when he told stories about scary cases. There was always a part of her touching him, whether it was a hand on his arm, a cheek on his shoulder, her fingers wrapped around his thumb. She basked in everything that _was_ Ryan Buell.

And Ryan was no different. He never stood too far from her, preferring to be by her side than behind or in front. His body always turned inwards, listening, protecting. He remembered every word she'd ever spoken, every thing she'd ever said, every detail of every story she'd ever told us. His eyes brightened everytime he saw her, his gaze almost always refusing to draw away from her face. His entire body calmed when she was close, his mouth splitting into a grin whenever her name came up. Everything about her, everything she had, she was, she would be - he loved.

People speak of soul mates all the time. How they knew from the second they laid eyes on each other that their significant other was "the One". But it was rare, very rare if even at all possible, that others could _see_ that _feeling_. Whether opposed to their union or not, there was really no denying it. Ryan and Harlow seemed meant to be. They were more than just a relationship, a status. They completed one another. Ryan had never smiled before like he allowed himself to smile now. All the times I'd seen Harlow before I knew her, she was tense, always frantically busy looking. Now, she was calm. Relaxed, at ease with the world. Both our world, and hers.

The love between them was simply astounding. It could not be explained. It could not be duplicated. It could not be touched.

I truly, _truly_ had thought, that it could never be touched.

**(Ryan)**

"No, Hun. The cone is the best part!"

She crunched on the last little bit of her ice cream cone, relishing in it's crisp.

"It has no flavor," I argued. "It tastes like crunchy cardboard."

She rolled her eyes, swallowed her last bite. "By itself, yes. But not with ice cream in it."

She pointed at my own half finished ice cream. "See? You have the crisp outside that hasn't been touched, but the inside - that delicious inside - is mushy and sweet because of the ice cream. You bite into it, and it's got the crunch. But then the overpowering sweetness from the ice cream comes through, and _bam_! Perfection!"

"You really, _really_, have spent too much time deliberating the yummy factor of ice cream cones."

"No deliberation needed. That, my Love, is common knowledge."

We both laughed, keeping up a steady pace down the cobbled streets of Main. She was right, the town _was_ beautiful. We had parked on the edge of the city, walking in through rows and rows of beautifully kept suburban homes. Down one street of identical townhouses with window shutters and brightly painted front doors, down the next street of plain bungalows, all painted creamy colors and hidden under large Oaks. We'd made it to Main Street, where we'd window-shopped (admiring all the wonderful trinkets in the clothing store, the candy store, the grocery store, the furniture store), and had stopped in to Dee Dee's Ice Cream Shop to pick up little cones of locally churned ice cream. I had vanilla. Harlow had rainbow.

Now, coming right down the end of Main Street, we came to a halt at the corner of a four way stop. There were no cars, only the soft rumbling of them in the distance. Somewhere around this area, there was the shrill laughter of children at a playground. A distant tinkle of an ice cream truck. The pitter patter of a fountain, the low bark of a dog. I looked around, then over to Lo, who was gazing passively down the street to our left.

"Where do we go now?" I asked, following her gaze down the shady street.

"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "Anywhere, I guess."

"What's so special about down there?" I said, watching as her gaze intensified slightly.

"I used to live down there," she said softly. "Two blocks down, on the corner house right next to the forest."

I squinted a bit, looking down to the edge of the street. The road ended at a bunch of trees huddled together, trees that seemed to stretch the length of the town. How far in it went, I had no idea. But there was gray in the distance, right behind the tops of the trees. A murky, almost black haze that hovered over the tops. The rest of the sky was ocean blue, cloudless and clear. It was just at the end of the this street, oddly enough, that the sky seemed to fade from blue to iron gray.

"That's not too far," I said casually. "Did you want to go look?"

Harlow frowned. "I'm not sure. Not really. But I should. Just ... to remember."

"You remember more than most people," I said.

"But I've also forgotten more than most," she said softly.

She intertwined her fingers with my own, holding them tightly and giving them a soft tug.

"Come on," she said, taking a deep breath and lifting her chin up courageously. "Let's check it out."

I nodded, and we began to make our way down the remainder of the sidewalk. There was an air of silence between us, because Lo's face was set in solemn determination, but mostly because I was completely unsure of what to say. Did I comfort her? She didn't seem to need it. Did I ask questions? I'm sure I'd find out soon enough. Did I joke with her? It hardly seemed the time.

The houses we walked past were all immaculately kept, their gardens overflowing with wild flowers. All but a few had giant trees out front, most had birdfeeders and all had white picket fences. The epitome of Pleasantville, if I'd ever seen one. Lo was looking ahead for the most part, but every now and then she'd look at one of the houses we were passing and smile slightly.

At the end of the first block, she nodded to the first house on the corner of the next.

"I had a friend who used to live in that house," she said reminiscently. "Mary. She was my age, and I'd spend the majority of my time playing with her in their backyard. They had this stellar play structure, and a tire swing attached to that old Elm in the back."

I noted that gigantic tree protruding over the high white fence in the back. I couldn't tell if there was still a tire swing attached to it or not, but the house was in beautiful shape. White as snow, their front door a brilliant red. French windows, a wrap-around porch. I couldn't blame her for spending so much time at Mary's home - it was unbelieveable.

"You think she still lives there?" I asked.

Harlow shook her head. "She moved out about a month before I left Newberry. Her Dad was offered a job in Maine at a University, so they had to leave. It was sad, seeing her go. She was my first real friend."

We passed Mary's house and kept moving at a quick pace down the street. With every step we came closer to Harlow's old house, I felt her squeeze my hand even tighter. Her face was still set with determination, but her eyes were oddly glazed and fearful. I gave her hand a quick squeeze, and she smiled apologetically.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Just weird being back."

"You think you'll recognize the house?"

"Doubt it," she said simply. "Knowing the people in this town, they sold it to a wonderful family just starting out, and they painted it, fixed it up, put in a nice garden, probably put up a fen - oh, my goodness ... "

We came to an abrupt halt at the last house next to the forest, and I could tell that it really hadn't changed much from when Harlow had lived in it.

She had been wrong.

Clearly, a new young family hadn't moved in. In fact, it looked like the last family that had lived in there had _been_ Harlow's. The windows had clearly been boarded up for years, but many of the boards had come off and were laying in rotting pieces around the foundation of the home. Nearly all the glass had been smashed from the windows and from the small squares in the front door. The red paint had peeled to reveal a chalky grey beneath, and their were gaping holes in the roof of the house, the shingles all hanging barely by a thread.

Harlow dropped my hand from her own, staring in awe at her old digs. The fence wasn't really a fence anymore, just a few jagged pieces of wood littered around the lawn - the lawn, which was overgrown with weeds and yellowed grass. The sidewalk was cracked, laying in pieces in a crooked pathway to the front cement steps, which seemed to be crumbling right before my eyes.

"I didn't think it'd look _worse_," she whispered, eyes round as globes, arms hanging limply at her side.

"Well, it .. I'm sure it looked better," I said, completely at a loss for words. "Did it ... was it nicer, back when you lived here?"

She blinked, but said nothing for a moment. Her eyes were fixated at the ruins of her old home.

"It was never nice," she said quietly. "But the paint was still there. And the windows - only two of them were broken. The fence was in one piece, but we never had a gate. And the lawn's much the same, definitely a little longer ..."

We both stood in silence, Harlow clearly trying to take in the complete destruction of her old home. Me, pretending to feign nonchalance at this delapidated hell of a two story. I was about to take her hand again when she abruptly lurched forward and began to walk up the shattered sidewalk.

"Lo!" I snapped. "Don't go in there .. it's not safe!"

But she didn't listen.

On she trudged, down the crooked and smashed pathway, looking every now and then at the weeds surrounding her. I looked wildly around me, and seeing no one near, I bolted up the path behind her.

"Harlow. Harlow!" I muttered, meeting her small strides quickly. "Lo, this place isn't safe - look, it's been boarded up. The floorboards have probably all rotted out, we can't - "

"I have to remember," she said quietly, quickening her pace up the path.

"There's probably animals living in there," I muttered, following less than a meter behind her. "Wild animals. With diseases. That will bite your face off, Harlow."

"No there isn't," she said, stopping at the foot of the crumbling front steps. "We can't go in this way. Gotta go around the back."

She bolted again before I could grab her arm, walking quickly and without hesitation around the West of the house, ducking and disappearing into a hole in the jagged, rotting fence. _FUCK!_

"You're going to kill me, woman," I muttered, ducking with slight trouble through the same hole she'd gone through.

I ambled and forced my way through, nearly faceplanting into the dusty, dewey weeds below me. I peered up, but saw that Harlow had disappeared. The house stretched on for a solid 40 feet, but there was a wide open space behind it, cracked cement nearly being overun with weeds. I bolted through the nearly waist high grass, trying desperately to find Harlow.

I came to the end of the house, and peered around it's corner. There was thirty feet of empty land stretched out behind it. Most was covered by weeds and yellowed grass. In the far corner there was a deep well, clearly an in-ground pool. Next to it, a large square of cracked cement and stone, what had clearly been a patio once upon a time. On the edge of the once-veranda, Harlow stood very still, gazing up at the house to her right.

I trudged through the rest of the grass, coming to a halt on the cement beside her. She didn't seem to notice I was there - her gaze was still set on a broken window two floors above. She looked slightly distressed, but there was still the stony sheen of determination running through the sharp lines in her face.

"You didn't tell me you had a pool," I mumbled, looking at the mosquito and mold infested hole to my left.

"There was never water in it," she muttered, eyes still fixed on the window above.

"What are you looking at?" I asked, looking from her, up to the window, then to her again.

"I'm not looking," she whispered, closing her eyes tightly and scrunching her nose. "I'm remembering ... "

I said nothing for a minute, just followed her gaze to the window above. It was a circular one, tiny shards of glass sticking out at different points from it. There was a giant, jagged circle in the middle of it, like someone had thrown a boulder through it years earlier. I looked at my feet, right below the window, and saw a faint dent in the cement. It was more a crack then anything, but it was oddly round and even more oddly angled. There was a very faint, brownish stain in the middle and top of it, and an even fainter brown stain that encircled it. I couldn't make out what it was - but my guess was paint. One of the few things that weather has trouble eroding away.

"Remembering what?" I asked quietly, after a minute or two had passed.

"Brody," she whispered.

I felt as if I was invading an intensely personal moment. This was Harlow's home, her memories. I shouldn't have been here. This was all her. I was an intruder.

A split second later, as if she had read my thoughts, she reached out and took my hand in her own cold one. Her eyes popped open, and looked over at me, her face astonishingly sad, but resolute.

"Sorry," she said again. "Sorry. I just had to ... be here. This spot."

"This spot means something?" I asked quietly, looking around at the dead leaves surrounding us, the pieces of chipped paint and stone littering the ground.

Harlow nodded, pointing tiredly to the dent in the concrete a few feet in front of me. "That does."

I frowned, my heart beginning to race unexplainabley in my chest. "That? That crack?"

She nodded again, wincing a little. "She died there. Brody."

I stared at the crack, the faint brown stains. The oddly shaped dent. And then, with a sickening jolt in my stomach, I looked up to the shattered circular window above.

"She ... jumped?"

Harlow blinked, staring at the spot on the ground. "Yes."

So there it was. The answer I'd been hoping to hear since I'd met Harlow.

But now?

I wasn't so sure I was ready to hear it.

"That's how it happened," I whispered, and I could literally feel the blood drain from my face.

Harlow nodded again, looking once more up to the broken window. "She jumped. Straight through that window. She didn't even have a running start, she just sorta ... fell through."

I looked in horror at Lo, her face pale but emotionless. There were no signs of tears, no betrayl of emotion shining through those eyes. There was only calm, with a vaguely solemn frown.

"I saw it," she whispered. "I was in the room opposite of that one. I walked in, and ... down she went."

An eerie silence filled the air between us, the chirping of birds, wooshing of cars and barking of dogs completely quieted by the surrounding gloom. Harlow said no more, just stared blankly at the spot on the pavement. A faint creaking from inside the house startled me, but there was no movement through the broken windows. The creak simply came from the weight and burden of the home, no more.

Lo let go of my hand, and walked silently to one of the smashed windows a few steps ahead. She stopped, rested her hands on the moldy, rotten windowsill, and peered in. I followed, trying to be as silent as her, walking purposely as far as I could around the patio dent. I stopped next to her, followed her gaze into the home.

From what I could tell, this used to be the kitchen. The marble countertops smashed, thick with dust and crumbling. Half of the cabinet doors had been ripped off and carried away, the door to the oven broken and hanging from a hinge. There was no fridge, not anymore at least. The tiles were grey and covered in a thick layer of dust and mold, with great chunks peeling up from the concrete floor. I could see bits of faded yellow underneath the grime, and a lone chair lay broken and rotted through in the center of the room. On the far right of the kitchen was a staircase, half the steps missing, that went straight up but disappeared behind a sharply bended wall. Next to the staircase, a pitch black hallway leading to the front room.

"Kitchen," I said softly.

"It's seen better days," she replied, humorless smile on her face. "Not _much_ better, mind you. But better."

She leaned her arms on the broken sill, looked solemnly into the kitchen.

"That staircase led to the upstairs hallway. On the left was my parents room, the right was a bathroom. Behind it was a joint double bedroom, mine, Brody and Kingston's. The circular window right above us, that was mine and Brody's room. Kingston had the smaller one attached to it."

She nodded towards the long, dark hallway. "That went to the front foyer. To the left was the living room, right was the dining room. Behind the dining room, the the right of this wall, was the den, and a little half bathroom attached to it."

"You remember it well," I noted.

She nodded. "This was the second longest time I've ever spent at any given home. Six months. I thought it was permanent."

She fell into silence again, looking with a slightly pained face back into the kitchen. I stared along with her, thinking back to the story of that fateful night she'd shared with me. She'd run down that exact flight of stairs, right after Brody had thrown herself out the window. Run right down to see her mother kill her stepfather. I looked to the left wall and saw a hole, no bigger than a quarter, dusted but still visible right below a broken framed picture of a daisy. Like the dent behind me, there was faint brownish stains all around the hole. Less faded than the one around the crack in the patio, but still barely evident.

This entire home, from the kitchen, to the bedroom, to the patio outside - it was tainted. Stains of blood, holes from bullets, cracks from skulls hitting pavement. The smashed glass was because of vandals and weather, but I had a feeling much of it had already been trashed _before_ Harlow had left the house. The girl standing next to me, the inhuman beauty we all envied. This was her reality. She was a tragedy, she came from a horror story. She had risen above to the person she was now, but here was the reminder that it hadn't always been this way.

Her arms dropped from the ledge of the window, and she took one more long glance into the kitchen. Turning to me, she took my hand in her own and gave it a soft tug.

"I'm done," she said quietly. "Let's go home."

**(Chick)**

It was always so dull when Harlow wasn't home.

I'd never admit that to her, not in a million years. God, she'd gloat me to re-death. But I could admit it now, in private. The house was so quiet, so uneventful. I had no one to talk to, nothing to do. I mean, I rarely did anything to begin with. But without her? It was even worse.

I was sitting on the couch this late afternoon, watching the Biography channel (seriously, why did Paris Hilton have her own episode? Are we really beginning to count her as person?), reminscing about my own fantastically intersting biography (not). The apartment was silent, besides the quiet hum of the fridge, the low volume of the television and the faint noise from the downstairs tenants radio. I was almost enjoying my afternoon of mope.

But then something very strange happened - strange even by a dead girl's standards.

The TV screen cut to black, turned on again, cut to black once more, then turned on again, but this time to pure static. Black and white dots, the irritating hissing of the white noise. I sighed, rolling my eyes - there we go, she'd forgot to pay her cable again. That girl, I swear ...

I moved up and off the sofa, towards Harlow's bedroom, where at least I could sit in silence and not have to the listen to the spitting of the broken television. But before I could even cross the room, I noticed something odd at the end of the long hallway.

Beneath Harlow's closed bedroom door, I saw a bright white light, brighter than any light I'd ever seen, living or dead. The light beamed from beneath the crack underneath her door, so vivid and dazzling it illuminated the entire hallway better than any lamp or light ever could've. I stopped in my place, squinting at the beam flooding through her door.

But the light changed, very suddenly and very drastically. It darkened a bit, still bright but much less pronounced in it's glow. A small black spot emerged, pale against the light, but becoming darker and darker and wider and wider as it creeped towards her door. The light was fading, the dark was building, until the darkness had completely enveloped the light and the hallway was pitch black once more.

And then, the strange part.

The darkness was pure, but the thing that had begin to slither out the crack in the bottom of her bedroom door was not. It was blacker than black. Darker than the night, vivid against the opaque background behind it. It seeped beneath the cracks, odd shapes, the consistency of tar, or molasses. It seeped and slimed and crept it's way beneath her door, until there was a large puddle of the black mass lying flat on the hardwood of her hallway.

I stared at it, terrified to move but unsure if it was something even remotely threatening to me. How much more could something hurt me? I was dead, wasn't I? But this thing .. it sent impossible chills up my arms, down my back. It was nothing I'd ever seen before, both before I'd died and now.

For a good two, three minutes, the thing remained motionless, sucking the remainder of light from every inch around it. It didn't move. Just blobbed in the same spot, soundless, dark and forbiding. But a second or two later, something began to emerge from the center of it.

I thought it was growing up at first, but then realized very shortly after that it wasn't a continuation of the inky mass. It was the top of a head, a head with shaggy brown hair, the color of raw umber but darker. I couldn't tell if it was dark brown or light black, but I soon lost my focus on the exact color - because a face began to appear.

At first just the forehead, a rich complexion, olive in tone. Smooth as silk, flawless as a Summer sky. The brows came up, richly arched and perfectly level with one another. From beneath the murk, I saw two hands rise up, both a similar color to the face I could see, saw their fingers wiggle and clutch desperately at the floorboards in front of it. With a noise like a giant suction cup being ripped from a wall, the head came fully into view, and I felt my stomach twist into nothing, my heart explode into a million pieces.

The head emerged, followed in rappid succession by the remainder of the body. It was a girl, no doubt about it, but a young girl, no older than eight, nine years old. She stood in the center of the black mass on the floor, looking around at the walls, taking in her surroundings. She didn't move, but let her arms hang limp against her sides. It wasn't her sudden appearance that startled me, though -

It was her face.

The face could've easily been Harlow's, just shrunken and younger. The complexion was the same, the skin color the same creamy tan. The hair was long, to the young girl's waist, and it was the same dark chestnut brown with soft waves that Lo had. Her lips were plush, a soft coral, the nose slightly rounded but long. And the eyes - they were Harlow's eyes. The glowing harlequin that only Lo could have, the sparkle and shine that only hers were able to omit. Those globes hidden behind the same thick lashes, innocently round and wholesome.

Finally, after she'd peered around, her eyes found mine, and she stared with sharp intensity at me. A look I never could have dreamed someone so young could produce, her gaze set me off balance. It intimidated me, sent great chills fast down my spine. She was unblinking, eyes fixated on my face.

She opened her mouth, very slowly, as if testing it. It seemed as though she hadn't used it in years.

She cleared her throat, very delicately, but there was a strange, deep rasp to it that I had never heard in Harlow's own soft tone.

"Harlow," she said, her voice ragged, unsure. She cleared it again. "Harlow. She lives here."

It was not a question, rather a statement. I frowned, trying to keep my heart in check.

"Who are you?" I asked, relieved at the stability in my voice. "Why are you here?"

She blinked for the first time, but did not avert her gaze. "Harlow. I need to talk to Harlow."

"Harlow isn't here," I replied. "Why do you need to talk to her?"

"Where is she?" the girl asked, face very suddenly looking horror-striken.

"She's on a trip," I replied. "South Carolina. She won't be home until tomorrow."

"I need her now!" the girl yelled, balling her hands into tight fists. "Please - I need to warn her - I need to speak to her - now!"

"I can't help you," I said, rather apologetically. "I can't call her, I'm ... I'm like you. I can't pick up a phone, not in the state I'm in."

"Then warn her," the girl said, taking a hesitant step towards me. "Warn her."

The step she took seemed to take a lot of energy out of her, her face paled remarkably quick. She shuddered slightly, took another step towards me, and whimpered in pain.

"Are you okay?" I asked, willing my feet unsuccessfully forward. "Are you hurt?"

"Please," she choked, her hands no longer balled into fists, but clutching desperately at her arms and face. "Not me. Harlow. Please, warn her - tell her that it's coming!"

"What's coming?" I asked, sincerely frightened.

She took another step, let out a loud squeal of pain. "It's coming. It's coming for her."

"Who is?" I asked desperately, finding that no matter how hard I willed my legs, they remained immobile. "Who's coming for her?"

"He is," she whispered, another step and another scream later. "Tell her he's coming. He's coming to take what's rightfully his. She made a pact - she owes him. He's coming, please, _please_, tell her! **Please!**"

She came running at me now, but with legitimate, uncontrollable horror I saw her begin to evaporate with every step. The first step, her forehead split into two. The second, scarlet blood began to pour from it's gash. The third, her skin began peeling, then shrivelling, then rotting, then falling to invisible pieces on the floor. By the sixth step, she was nothing but bones and shredded skin, screaming in agony -

and disappearing in a puff of smoke right before my eyes.

The apartment remained untouched. The natural light from the windows seeped through, covered every piece of furniture, every wall. There was no bright light and no darkness slithering under Harlow's bedroom door. The television returned to the Biography channel. Everything remained the same.

Except me -

I was positive, nearly one hundred percent positive, I'd never be able to move again.

How can a heart beat so violently, when it hasn't been able to beat in nearly 50 years?

**(Harlow)**

"Thank you for coming with me."

I smiled, rather half-heartedly, up at Ryan's face. He smiled back, much more sincere than mine had been, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"It's alright," he said simply. "I'm glad I could be here with you."

I give his side a light squeeze as we walked awkwardly down the pathway back towards the street. I didn't dare look behind me again - seeing it once had been enough.

I'd never tell him, both due to embarrassment and fear, but the house really hadn't changed that much. It had always been run down, shabby looking. The pool was always dirty and empty, filled with wildlife, mold and old rain. The grass was never trimmed, but it had never been that yellow. There were several windows newly broken, but there had already been three or four smashed when I'd lived there. The kitchen was easily dirtier than it'd been when we'd lived there, but it was still missing all the same kitchen cabinet doors.

It was home. Unfortunately.

Ryan and I came to the end of the walkway, moving quickly past the broken fence. I stopped, and turned to take one last look at my old home.

I sighed, taking in for what I hoped would be the last time the place where my life had truly begun to fall apart. There were no memories in this house I fondly remembered. But there were memories I knew I had to keep, regardless of whether or not I wanted to. I had to remember every bit. Every bad thing, every painful thing, every ugly thing. I had to take it all in. Dwell on it. Immerse myself in it. And let it go.

I would not forget. But I would move on.

I moved to begin the short walk back to the Main street, but realized a second or two later Ryan wasn't following. I turned back to see where he was, and saw him standing very still, gazing up at the old shell of the house.

"We can go, Babe," I said quietly. "It's alright."

"Who is that?" he said, voice choked and brow furrowed.

I frowned, followed his gaze back to the house. I didn't see anyone ...

"Who?" I asked, walking back the couple steps to his side.

"In the window," he whispered, pointing to the old living room bay window. "There. Don't you see?"

I looked at the window, frowning - but my confusion didn't last long. He was right - there was somebody in the window.

Barely visible over the top of the windowsill, a young girl was peering out on the street, staring directly at us. Her hair was dark, face lightly tanned. And even from this far back, I could make out the odd, green sparkle of her eyes. My heart stopped - I swear, it wasn't beating. I moved a step towards the gate, but found my legs unwilling to move through it. I was stuck in place, staring at the sharp, withered face in the window.

"Brody," I managed to choke out.

"Her," Ryan said behind me.

I turned to look at him, and saw his face paler than snow. His eyes were wide, unblinking, hand held tightly over his chest. He turned to me, wrestling his eyes off my dead sister in the window, and stared at me.

"I've seen her before," he whispered. "In my dreams. She's the one - she keeps coming to me, telling me to warn you."

"Brody does?" I asked. "You've seen - "

But before I could finish my sentence, an ear-piercing scream rang through the quiet street, and when I looked back -

Brody was gone.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello all! I'VE ESCAPED, I managed to spend 7 days straight and without sleep working on University stuff, and I've managed to clear a day or two in my schedule for unhealthy amounts of alcohol, too many cookies AND an update! HURRAH!

I must make this quick, as I'm trying to fit the shattered bits of my social life back into this weekend, but I must thank all the lovely reviewers and the 12 (12! holy moly cow!) new members who've story alerted/favorited this little ol' ficcy of mine! You all seriously brigthen my day, everytime I open up my email and see a new review or a new story alert or anything, my face goes apeshit and so do my limbs (I flail, everywhere - one day I'll take a video of it).

I have no clue when the next update will come, but hopefully I'll be able to work on it soon! So much love to each and every person who reads this, you'll never ever know how much I appreciate it!

**love, **_ellah!_


	31. WHAT'S BETTER THAN A GRAVY BOAT!

**Chapter Thirty**

WHAT'S BETTER THAN A GRAVY BOAT?!

**(Harlow)**

The ride home was made in complete silence.

Neither one of us could think of a thing to say - a first in our relationship - and neither one of us could shake the feelings of intense dread that wracked our bodies. Ryan's fingers were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, and I was sure my face was a similar hue. The five hour drive went by quicker than I had realized, and before I knew it, we'd made it to and parked in front of my apartment. Ryan turned off the engine, leaned back in his seat, staring blankly out the windshield.

I was still at a loss for words, but I felt a strange wave of calm rush through my body the second I saw my tall complex out the window.

"Home," I said softly, resting a few fingers on the thick glass.

"Home," Ryan agreed, but still seemingly unable to avert his gaze.

"You're coming in?" I asked, unbuckling my seatbelt and peering over at his pale face.

He nodded, undoing his own seatbelt. "Of course."

We both hopped out the dark SUV, and I popped open the back door to grab my suitcase. Ryan followed my lead, grabbing his own and our two crumpled backpacks from the back seat. I tucked my sweater under my arm, grabbed my purse, and bumped the door close with my hip.

The silence followed us up the walkway, through the front doors, down the hall, up the elevator and down thirty steps to the front of my apartment. I fumbled in my purse for a moment, grabbed by keys and unlocked the door hastily. I breathed a sigh of relief - my home, untouched, perfect, welcoming. What I needed.

The two of us walked through the front door, with Ryan closing it softly behind us. I dropped my belongings in a large heap on the front floor, and Ryan followed suit. I smiled, and he attempted without much success to return it. I moved close to him, rested a hand on his firm chest, the other gently on his lean side.

"It's okay," I said softly. "Really, it's alright."

He nodded, but said nothing. His right arm snaked around my waist, his left enveloped my shoulders with a firm but tired grip. I snuggled my face into his chest, taking in that sweet, musky smell I'd grown so fond of.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"A little," he responded, rubbing a large hand across the small of my back. "You?"

"I could eat," I said simply. "I'll make some sandwiches, I've got some lunch meat in the fridge. I'm sure it's still good."

He smiled, a small but legitimate one. "Of all the things that could've killed me in my lifetime - it's gonna be your rancid black forest ham that does me in."

I grinned. "I bought it two days before we left. It's not even a week old. I'll do the sniff test, you'll survive you big baby."

He snorted, picked up my suitcase and purse and nodded toward the living room. "I'll take these to your room - gotta go to the bathroom."

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and left his side to head towards the kitchen. I looked around absently for any sign of Chick, but couldn't immediately see her. That was alright - I sensed her, so I know she hadn't left.

As I fiddled in the kitchen with slightly stale bread and cut around the rough edges of hardened cheese, I noted the sound of the toilet flushing in the near distance, and heard my squeaky taps and the sink fill with water. I turned around to grab a butter knife, and let out a shrill little squeak -

"Oh, hello," Chick said, in that monotone, empty voice.

"Christ," I muttered, sighing with relief. "How many times have I told you? Don't _do_ that."

"Sincerest apologies," she muttered, moving noiselessly behind me. "Just wanted to say welcome home."

I turned to her, and noticed for the first time the odd expression on her pallid face. It was a mix of genuine relief, but sincere apprehension etched into the faint lines of her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were gloomy, even for her, and there was an air of legitimate despair hanging around her. I frowned.

"You alright?" I said quietly, eyeing the bedroom door for signs of Ryan - nothing yet. "You look ... a little _off_."

"I always look a little off," she said simply. "One would require some livelihood, which besides ironic, is nearly impossible."

I rolled my eyes, still straining to hear any sound from the inside of my bedroom. "Not the best word, then. You look glum. What's going on?"

She frowned a little, but didn't answer me immediately. Her eyes were round, and her gaze was staring strangely at the door leading to my room. I glanced over, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and looked back at her.

"What's up, Chick?" I asked.

She said nothing again, simply shaking her head and nodding towards the bedroom. With odd speed - a quickness I'd never seen her capable of - she turned and disappeared through the solid kitchen wall, into the pantry. Less then two seconds later, Ryan walked from the bedroom, into the living room, holding a book tightly in his right hand. His thumb marked a page, although I couldn't tell what book he had found.

I peered through the kitchen window into the living room, and cocked an eyebrow. "What's that?"

He held up the book, and I realized with a start exactly what he was holding: my old photo album. The ragged, torn brown cover, yellowing pages, broken strap. That last time I'd even seen that thing was ... well, when Kimmy had been over.

"Where'd you find that?" I asked, slightly defensive.

I didn't like the thought of him going through my bookshelves.

"It was lying open on your bedroom floor," he said, with such sincerity I knew he couldn't be lying.

I frowned, took a quick glance over my shoulder - Chick still hadn't reappeared. What had she been doing, going through my albums?

"Strange," I said, turning back to my half-prepared sandwiches. "Must have fallen off the shelf while we were away."

"Maybe," Ryan said, not looking entirely convinced. "It was open ... on _this_ page."

He lay the withered book on the dark marble of the window, and I peered over to look at the yellowing, slightly crumpled leaf of paper. My heart skipped a beat.

Looking back at me were sunken but oddly fluorescent green eyes. Brody. The dark, chocolate colored hair, long and waved in front of her shoulders. The withered, morose face of a person who'd forgotten how to sleep. The slightly pinched look about her tanned skin, the lips identical to mine, the nose vaguely longer. Her 8 year old self stared up at me, vacant eyes boring furiously into my own.

I rearranged the look of terror and confusion into a bland look of mild surprise. "Weird."

Ryan sighed, hopping up on one of the bar stools. He was watching me, I could feel his stoney gaze, but I refused to look back up.

"Come on, Harlow," he said, voice biting into frustration. "It's more than weird."

"It's a coincidence, Ryan," I said softly. "That's all. The spirit in my house - Chick. She probably did it. I forgot to leave the television on for her, I guess. She's gotta keep herself occupied somehow."

But Ryan didn't look convinced, and I didn't feel all that convinced either - the second after I spoke, I heard Chick's quiet voice from the pantry behind me - "_It wasn't me."_

I peered up quickly to see if Ryan had heard anything, but he showed no trace of it. Instead, his eyes bore into my own, dark brown looking glazed over and tired. More so than they usually did.

"I don't think it was the ghost, Harlow," he said seriously. "And I know you don't think it was her either."

"Who knew there were _two_ psychics in this house," I mumbled sarcastically.

Ryan didn't respond, but pushed the journal further across the window.

"I've seen her, Harlow," he said simply. "I've seen her in my dreams, more than five times. I saw her in the window at your old house. I see her everytime I close my eyes, I know what her voice sounds like, I know how many freckles she has on each cheek. I've seen her."

"She's dead," I said, with an attempt at finality. "She's dead. You didn't see her. You couldn't have seen her. You saw me, Ryan. You saw me, but younger. You envisioned me, when you dreamnt it. You were having a bad dream, I was another memory, you mixed the two of them together. It's common, in Psychology it's called memory synapse erro - "

"It's not psychology, Harlow!" he said angrily, and for the first time in our entire relationship, I saw a dark fury pass over his face, and his hand clench into a fist. "It's reality! I know what I saw. I know it was her. This is not all a coincidence. This is not all happening in my head. This was a vivid dream, in which - "

"A _dream._" I said, trying without much success to control the fury in my voice. "A _dream_, Ryan. A **dream.** Dreams are not reality. And it _was, _in fact, happening in your head. You know why? Because it was a **dream. **Just a dream. Dreams aren't real."

"Then it wasn't a dream," he said, brushing it off. "It was a premonition, then. A warning."

"It was nothing of the sort," I said simply.

"It _was_," he pressed. "It **was**."

"Levels of processing," I said, trying to cut his sandwich in half but finding my hand was shaking too much to do so. "At the lowest point in the levels of processing, dreaming - "

"I don't want to hear it," he said, jaw set rigid with anger. "It's not psychology. This is not a case study. This is not an exam question, I'm not looking for a definition, I'm not looking for an explanation. I know what it was. Something is happening, Harlow. I've seen her - Brody, I've seen her. So has Chip. So has Katrina. And I guarantee you, I bet you everything I own, that we're not the only ones."

"Shallow processing," I muttered.

Ryan gave a growl of irritation, flipped the page with Brody's face over, and pointed to the picture on the next sheet - Kingston.

"Chip's seen him," he said calmly. "Michelle's seen him. _**I've**_ seen hi - "

"Impossible," I snapped. "Kingston's alive. Don't believe me? Let me call McFaden's Mental Institution in New Jersey - you can talk to his nurse."

"Then it was someone else," Ryan said quickly, trying with more success than I had to keep his voice calm. "We've all seen Brody, and nearly all of us have seen Kings - the boy."

"Kingston is alive," I said harshly, throwing the badly constructed sandwich onto a plate. "There was only six of us. Only two of us are left, and that's me, and that's Kingston, and - "

"Ollie," Ryan said simply. "Ollie."

I felt the words catch in my throat. _Ollie_. How could I have forgotten Ollie?

Seemingly encouraged by my sudden silence, Ryan perked up and tapped eagerly on the book in front of him. "Where's Ollie - do you have a picture?"

I leaned over, slammed the book shut and threw it on top of my fridge, where it landed with a thud in a small, porcelain fruit bowl. I dropped the plate and the pathetic sandwich in front of Ryan on the sill, and threw my own into the sink on my left.

"I'm done talking about this," I said quietly, brushing my hands off on my baggy jeans. "I'm done. It's not a premonition, it's a dream, a scary dream that has you spooked. It's nothing. If something was happening, I would know. I _would_."

And with a final furious glare, I stormed across the living room, into my bedroom, and slammed the door behind me with as much strength as I could possibly muster.

**(Emma)**

"You don't think they eloped, do you?"

Jenn rolled her eyes across the table, let out a loud belch and tapped her empty mug of beer distractedly.

"Naw," she said, after some deliberation. "No way. They've been together what, 9, 10 months now? Too soon. And they would've called."

"God hope so," Sophie muttered from beside me.

"Oh shush," Jenn said, with that fantastic devilish grin. "You know you can't wait for them to get hitched. You get to spend your hundreds of kajillions of dollars on wedding presents and then - of course! - baby presents!"

Sophie crinkled her nose.

"You'd have to get her something good, you know," I said chipperly, throwing an arm around her slack shoulders. "It can't be a gravy boat."

"Who the fuck buys gravy boats?" Jenn said, shaking her head.

"No kidding," I muttered. "Seriously, and how are they supposed to react when they rip open the paper, and - _ta-da!_ Here's a porcelain dish for you to use twice every year!"

"We thought about getting you a blender," Jenn said cheerfully, in her best Billy Mayes impression. "But we thought '_NO WAY, _what this newly wed couple really wants is a _gravy boat. _A **gravy boat**."

"Ladle? Fuck no we didn't get you a ladle!" I cried. "SEE THIS DIPPED SPOUT, NO LADLE NECESSARY. YOUR GRAVY BOAT COMES FULLY EQUIPPED."

"GRAVY BOAT, GRAVY BOAT, GRAVY BOAT!"

"CALL NOW AND WE'LL DOUBLE YOUR ORDER!"

"WHAT'S BETTER THAN ONE GRAVY BOAT?!"

"A SECOND GRAVY BOAT COMPLETELY FREE OF CHARGE!"

"LOOK AT THE HOOKED HANDLE, MADE OF PRISTINE PORCELAIN AND SET IN A SEMI CIRCLE EASY GRIP SHAPE."

"NOTE THE DECORATIVE SPIRAL PATTERN HAND ENGRAVED ON THE BODY AND SPOUT."

"LID? WHAT LID, ASSHOLE? YOUR GRAVY IS GOING TO BE SO FUCKING POPULAR IN THIS DIPPED SPOUT PORCELAIN GRAVY BOAT, YOU'RE GONNA NEED TO KEEP REFILLING THIS SHIT."

"You guys are fucking morons," Sophie muttered, as Jenn and I legit nearly keeled over with laughter.

Across the table from Sophie and myself, next to Jenn in her fit of giggles, was Lindsey. Her mouth curved slightly into a tired grin, but she didn't join in the laugh riot. As she rarely had these last few months.

Today, Jenn and I had managed to convince Grouch-O Sophie to come out for a lovely, fancy, classy dinner. And when I say lovely, fancy, classy dinner, I meant all you can eat honey ribs and bottomless beer night at our local Applebees. Who in their right mind, may I ask you, could turn something like that down? Would you? No way you wouldn't, because I can tell you're a smart bunch of folks who know that no sane person can pass on unlimited ribs, and **surely**, by that logic, can't pass on those _and_ bottomless beer!

So after coercing Sophie (although frankly, it took barely any effort at all) to come and have a Bro night with little ol' Jenny and I, we figured we'd push our luck just a _liiiittle_ further. We gave Linds a call.

Holed up in her apartment for the better part of the last five months, no one on the volleyball team had seen Lindsey more than two or three times in that nearly 25 week span. She barely returned phone calls, never came out to dinner or for drinks or to parties. She'd become an anti-social hermit, the exact opposite of the person she had been. Did we blame her? Of course not.

Kimmy and Linds had been inseperable. They were the non-psychotic version of Sophie and Harlow. You couldn't find one without running into the other. If one of them was angry at you, you could bet your right asscheek so was the other. You didn't see one smile without the other, and you didn't see one sad without seeing misery on the opposite's face. They were connected by more than just similar interests. They were on a whole other level of friendship, past anything I had ever experienced, past anything I'd ever witnessed. They were together, a whole.

But now the other half **to** that whole was gone, and the other half was left _with_ a hole. How does life go on when the reason for living vanishes? How do you learn to smile when half your will has been snatched away? How do you come back from the dead when you're already gone? This was the conundrum facing Lindsey.

Shockingly, she'd accepted our invitation and met us here nearly an hour ago. In the hour she'd been here, she'd barely spoken, only talked when talked _to_, and had averted eye contact with us for the majority of the evening. Her face, although no longer the mirror image of a skeleton's, had a distinctive look of wither. Her eyes were sunken, sad. Her mouth turned permanently downward. Her arms were sticks, skin was pale, hair was lank. Her body, her face, her movements, her personality - they were tired. Exhausted. Not from grief, not from sadness. Simply from the exhaustion and the all consuming pit of weary that _we_ know as life.

I gave Sophie a subtle little nudge, and it was astonishing how quickly she caught on.

"You think they got married, Linds?" she asked, digging with astounding daintiness into the next basket of ribs.

Linds shook her head, poking glumly at her own untouched basket. "I have my doubts."

"But they're in _lurve_," Jenn reasoned, pouring another overflowing mug of beer. "Who're we to say they aren't gonna get hitched?"

Lindsey didn't respond.

"Ah fine," Jenn sighed. "I can dream, can't I?"

"I envy you Jenn," I said sincerely. "You dream as you live."

"Whatcha mean by that?"

"In a state of constant inebreation."

She grinned, took a long swig of beer and clunked her mug down on the table. "Usually. Last night I had a bit of a strange dream though."

"Could you see straight in it?" Sophie asked between mouthfuls. "Because _that_ - would be astounding."

Jenn flipped her the bird, but smiled in spite of herself. "Vividly, thank you very much!"

"What was it about?" Lindsey asked softly, giving us all a start.

Jenn recovered quicker than Soph and I. "I don't even remember that well. I remember there being a little girl in it, probably eight or nine years old? Tiny little thing, but really pretty. I do remember that, she was gorgeous."

"What a creep," Sophie muttered, grinning cheekily at Jenn.

But Jenn didn't seem to notice - she was deep in thought. "And I don't remember where we were. Outside somewhere. Near a forest, I think? Definitely outdoors. And she kept telling me something ... she was warning me, I think? I'm not sure. And then she started screaming, and her body started falling apart .. "

Jenn gave an involuntary shudder and shook her head. "That's all I remember - but damn, it was creepy."

I turned to exchange a slightly bemused glance with Soph - but realized that she was still looking at Jenn. There was a slightly stricken look to her, a little like she'd just been slapped. She blinked once, twice, then shook her head.

"I swear to God," she said softly. "I've had that exact same dream before ... Like, exact. Down to the body falling apart and everything."

Jenn frowned. "Really?"

Soph nodded. "When you say her body started falling apart, you mean chunks of her - "

"Skin."

We all looked, in none-too-subtle shock, across the table. Lindsey, for the first time in over an hour, had spoken of her own free will.

Sophie took the least time to rebound, but there was a tinge of horror marring her generally calm face. "Yeah, her skin."

"I've seen her too," Lindsey said, her voice hoarse from months of unuse. "Three or four times now. And a little boy."

I frowned, shooting a glance over at Jenn - her eyes were wide and boring into Lindsey's.

"And her skin," Jenn said, nearly as hoarse as Linds. "It fell apart?"

"Like it was melting off," Lindsey said.

A silence enveloped the table - Sophie, Jenn and Lindsey staring wildly at one another. Me, face covered in rib sauce, looking between each of them in turn.

"The eyes," Lindsey said softly.

"Familar," Jenn said, looking down at her hands.

"Harlow's," Sophie finished.

Harlequin green, fresh as grass, bright as the stars - there were no other pair like them in the world.

**(Ryan)**

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

I curled up next to her, snaking a hand across her shallow stomach. She turned her head towards me, eyes burning and wet with unshed tears. I nudged closer, until my head was just beneath hers.

"Okay," I said simply, no more will to argue, no more want to see her sad.

She said nothing for another moment or two, before sliding over onto her side, wrapping an arm around the back of my head. I felt her warm breath pass over the nape of my neck, her nose nuzzle slightly into my hair.

"I know you'll still think about it," she murmured softly. "And I know even if I tell you not to, you won't be able to help it."

"Both true," I agreed, her sweet, airy scent overpowering all of my senses.

"But try not to think about it," she said quietly. "Try to keep your mind off of it. You're busy, I'm busy - we don't have time for dreams. Not those kind."

Vanilla and coconut, numbing my brain, slowing my heart, warming my skin. I held her tighter, pulling her small self closer to me.

"I'll try," I agreed, soft cotton of her shirt light against my cheek.

She inched back slightly, propping herself up. I peered up at her face, that beautiful face, resting lightly in the palm of her hand. The sun, slowly sinking behind the horizon, cast one last ray of light that fell over her like a spotlight. Radiance, incomparable to anyone. Hair alight, eyes shining jewels, skin a flawless cinnamon. The slight hollow in her neck, the light muscle lining her arms. Jaw sharp, lips full - perfection.

I reached a hand towards the beauty, the bliss. Felt it wrap around the impossibly warm skin. Saw the smile, brilliant and pure and beautiful, cross her face. Smelt that sweet musk, the faint lick of flowers. Heard the soft giggle, tasted the sweet balm on her lips.

She could tell me to drive off a bridge tomorrow, and I'd do it.

For her?

Anything.

"I love you," I said softly, words slurred against her lips.

She pressed warm fingers against my cheek, nose brushing against my own.

"I love you," she whispered. "Forever."

Forever.

**(Unknown)**

"He was making such progress ... "

She shook her head. "He's been on and off for over a decade, Jamie."

"But he'd had months of on," I argued softly. "Longest run he'd had in ... _years_, probably."

She shrugged, shaking her dark braids behind her shoulders. "It happens from time to time. Tremendous improvement, and then ... bam."

I knew **that** much was true ... hadn't I seen it before? Mrs. Whiteshell, blooming and brilliant for nearly a year before it sucked her back under. Mickaela Fenton, tall and beautiful, head held high for over six months. It took only five minutes to slip back into the abyss. And Mr. Monroe. He fell into the dark three years ago - hasn't been back since.

"How'd it happen?" I asked.

Linda shrugged her broad shoulders. "We don't know. Fine one day. Journal entries normal, functioning as well as he has in years. Went to bed, and just ... never quite woke up."

I frowned. "Has he said anything?"

"His sister's name. Shouted her name for hours before his voice went."

"Has anyone called her?"

She shook her head. "No use. He'll get worse before he gets better - no use worrying the girl."

"And if he doesn't get better?"

Linda frowned. "Sometimes they don't. That's the hard part."

"I know," I said quietly. "I know. It's just ... sad. Heartbreaking, really."

She nodded, giving me a slight pat on the back. "You'll learn to be immune, Jamie."

"I don't _want_ to be immune. I still want to be able to _feel_."

"Immunity isn't unfeeling," she replied softly. "Immunity is protection. Immunity is a coat of steel. You watch this, these people, for another ten, twenty years. You can care plenty. But care too much, and you'll fall apart."

She placed a hand on my shoulder, gave a soft squeeze. "Be alert. Be empathetic. Be patient. Don't be broken. Once you're broken - you may never come back."

I sighed, but said no more. Linda shot me a glance, tucked her clipboard back under her arm, and padded softly down the pristine hall. I heard the door snap behind her, but I couldn't find the will to move away from the window.

There'd always been something beautiful about him - through his good days _**and**_ bad. Something so careless, so glamorously lazy about his quick walk. His skin, pinched and pale as Alabaster, but flawless. There was some kind of spark left in his fizzled but sharp face, still some soft glow burning in the eyes. _Those_ eyes. Green as Spring grass, bright as the stars. Even on his bad days, the worst of the worst, they still shone. Captured you, warmed you like the morning sun. Most days, they said, he was barely more than comatose. Medicated into near unconsciousness. But all days - the good, the bad, the doped - he kept that shine. That spark. The brilliance.

My hand found the glass, but fell far away from him.

Cross-legged, head resting against the wall behind him. His hands, those long fingers, thin as branches, knotted tightly in front of him. He gazed up at the opposite wall, full lips moving in incoherence. He was gone again. Gone as fast as he'd come back.

"Kings," I said quietly. "Come on, Kingston. Fight it."

Who was I kidding? There was nothing left to fight for - he'd battled for years, grit his teeth and fought tooth and nail, all for nothing. For peace, for calm, for serenity. Against madness, insanity and bedlam.

But ultimately, no matter how many fights he went into, no matter how hard he forged on ...

He'd never win this war.

A physical war could never maim as fiercely as a mental. The most dangerous weapon in the world isn't a gun, or a knife, or a bomb.

It's your own mind.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSfkjsdhf ikwehfilewhfigohewighewilghw ielfoiwsnw!

I'm back! I'm sorry! I suck! You all rock!

Legit, this is what happened. The day was February 10th, it was cold, it was blustery ... I spilled my entire XL coffee all over my keyboard. Lost everything... OR SO I THOUGHT. 2 months ago, dug this bad boy outta the back of my closet, thought "HAH, if it turns on, I'll legit go sit and study for four hours .." Guess what turned on? Honestly, almost cried with relief. And yes, dear readers, after about 30 minutes of crying and rolling around with it, I studied. And NOW, I've finished the chapter that's been like 9 months in the making ...

I will not lie, I have no idea when my next update will be ... School is making a shitshow out of me, and I barely have time to breathe and consume my normal8 cups of coffee in one day, but I will absolutely make an effort to work on the next couple of chapters!

Thanks for sticking with me, and for **this** long. You. Are. All. Amazing. Pats on the back for everyone. I thank you for your dedication, your patience, and the tremendous amount of love I've gotten from all your reviews and wonderful (albeit slightly angry) PM's. Be back (hopefully) soon!

All my love!

**love,**_ ellah!_


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